


Sagittarius

by Shaish



Series: Sagittarius [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: ARGUS, AU, Angst, Canon Divergence, Central City, F/F, FIx It, Gen, He won't stay on the ground for more longer than two minutes, Humor, I can't be trusted to make a call on that, I can't seem to get him to come down, I'll put more tags in the categories later, League Oliver, League of Assassins - Freeform, Lian Yu, M/M, Mirakuru Oliver, Mirakuru Slade, Murder and Mayhem, Oliver Likes To Be In High Places, Oliver didn't, Slade made it off the island, Slow Burn, Specific warnings are above the chapters that need it though, Torture, Violence, at least I think it's minor, for some things, minor gore, the author has strange perceptions of what might be 'a lot' or 'a little'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-03-01 10:25:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 43
Words: 324,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13292856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaish/pseuds/Shaish
Summary: “What’s the name of that one?”“What one?”“There,” Oliver says, pointing up between the trees.“Sagittarius,” Slade answers, fingers laced on his stomach.“What he didn’t tell you is that Sagittarius is the archer,” comes a voice.





	1. So long to all my friends, every one of them met tragic ends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mz_valkyrie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mz_valkyrie/gifts), [tatch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatch/gifts).



> I'm mostly putting this chapter up for feedback because I have no idea if any of this is working lmao OTL I might change it before I continue, etc. Unbeta'd.

He steps off the boat with a sigh, head tilting back as he breathes in the air. He can smell the city in the mix of salt water and hard iron and rust and fish, can hear the water hitting against the pier’s cement as the boat’s crew clamber and unload behind him.

“Mr. Wilson,” the captain says, english a struggle but it’s been enough to get him off the island and to the mainland. He turns his head enough to find the captain with his good eye, the only one he has left, the dark cloth wrapped around his right hiding the captain’s edges. “Cops here soon,” the captain says, then gives a short bow, “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Slade replies, voice a dry rasp despite the water he downed like the booze he left on the island. There’s still half a bottle sat on top of the crate Oliver used to sit on-

He forces the thought away, looking back out at the port while the captain shuffles back to his boat to help his men. He can see the police cars coming and stays where he is, stands still, hand gripping the blanket around his shoulders, held closed at his chest as he closes his one good eye and smells the ocean. He hates that smell.

\-----

The hustle and bustle of Hong Kong is loud, almost too much, even buffered as it is by the glass windows of the hospital room. His bosses come, three of them, a medical exam and five hours of waiting later. They’re briefed on his condition, the missing eye, the new scars not yet in his file, and then they whisk him away back to Australia, no pomp or fanfare, just the quiet, discreet exit they’re known for.

_“What happened to the target?”_

He doesn’t pause.

_“The target was compromised, died in enemy fire.”_

_“Where is your partner Wintergreen?”_

_“Deceased.”_

_“Circumstances?”_

_“Betrayed the organization.”_

There’s a pause at that, but it’s jotted down with all the rest.

_“Who else was on the island?”_

Blonde and dark hair flash through his mind’s eye like a flickering light and he says, _“Mercenaries. Unknown employer. All deceased, to my knowledge.”_

That’s jotted down too, typed and written in equal measure. He’s expecting it, so he doesn’t pause in answering when they ask, _“Was there anyone else? Was there anything else?”_

“No,” he answers, chest constricting but he keeps it from his face and out of his voice, “Nothing.”

\-----

He’s given three months leave of absence, four psych evaluations, two more medical exams by the A.S.I.S. doctors, and one mandatory physical therapy session that he passes with flying colors, and manages to avoid the blood tests for now.

He goes home to his apartment, feels disconnected as he holds a key in his fingers and slides it into the lock, remembers to turn it and then the door handle, pushing the door open. His apartment is as he left it, bare save the tv across from the old, dark blue couch, the small table at the end he frequented, and the picture frames of his son sitting at the back of the kitchen counter.

He steps in, closes the door behind him, and drops his bag on the floor. That’s what he’s supposed to do, right? That’s what he does, but he doesn’t lock the door, or turn on the tv, doesn’t even sit on the dusty couch. He walks over to the far window and looks out at the town his stationed base resides in the middle of, and then forces it to slide open, loud and noisy enough to make him tense in the more familiar quiet, pushing past the stick and resistance. He sits down on the floor, lays back on the hard wood, and listens to the town in lieu of the breaths of nearby allies, feels the breeze rush in from above and stares up at the stars he can see through the opening.

_“The great Slade Wilson knows star signs?”_

_“It’s a manner of navigation,” he replies, the ‘you little shit’ implied in his tone._

_“What’s the name of that one?”_

_“What one?”_

_“There,” Oliver says, pointing up between the trees._

_“Sagittarius,” Slade answers, fingers laced on his stomach._

_“Don’t think I know any,” Oliver jokes, and Slade’s lips curve just a fraction._

_“What are you?” he idly asks._

_“Taurus,” Oliver replies, “I think.”_

_“Suits your bullheaded nature,” Slade comments, lips twitching at the shove to his shoulder._

_“Let me guess, you’re the lion,” Oliver says, and Slade glances over briefly to see his eyebrows raised a bit and his expression expectant._

_“Lucky guess,” Slade replies._

_Oliver snorts and rolls his eyes back up to look at the sky. “‘Lucky guess’,” he mutters._

_“What he didn’t tell you is that Sagittarius is the archer,” comes a voice._

_Slade looks back up, shifting his head back to look when he hears soft steps. Shado takes a seat on the other side of Oliver, laying back and staring up, dark hair made black in the night and fanned out in the dark green, her hood a camouflauge._

_She turns her head and quirks a smirk over at them. “Guess you do know one.”_

_“Two,” Oliver says softer, looking over at her. Shado’s expression turns sorrowful, brows drawing together and an ache in her eyes that’s lessened just a little, but is still there, will be forever, Slade thinks. He looks back up at the sky._

_“Any chance there’s a stubborn bull in the sky tonight,” he asks to change the subject. It draws their eyes back up._

_“Not tonight,” Shado observes, looking back over at them again, smiling a little this time before raising an eyebrow, “But we’ve got a stubborn one right here.”_

_Oliver groans while Slade laughs. “I hate it when you two team up on me,” he complains._

_Slade reaches over and nudges his shoulder with a fist. “If we didn’t, who would keep your ego in check.”_

_“You know, he’s got a point,” Shado observes._

_Oliver groans and Slade cracks a smile._

He blinks the memory away and stares up at the stars, spots the bow of Sagittarius just past the edge of the roof outside and pushes himself up to his feet, walking back over to grab his bag and heading back into the bedroom, not bothering to lock the front door or close the window. He needs to unpack, needs to focus on unpacking. That’s what people do, right? Memories won’t bring back the dead, just twist the knife in his chest that much harder for all his failures.

He drops his duffel on the end of the bed and yanks the zipper open with a little too much force, grunting when it snaps clean off the end.

\-----

He strikes the punching bag, keeps the strength behind the hits in check and does it again, watches it give a light arching swing. It’s less about _trying_ to open the bag these days. He strikes it again, glances at the other agents glancing at him and then refocuses, goes back to ignoring them. He’s an oddity now, fucking eyepatch and all, not because they don’t welcome him back, but because he doesn’t welcome them. He tries, sure, went to spar with someone because they asked, spotted someone else because they asked, but he doesn’t ask _them_ to spar with him, doesn’t ask for their companionship.

He’s been back a week, over two months early. He’s still not cleared for missions, but they let him on the base, let him into the gym, something about trying to help him ‘reintegrate’. He knows he’s not ready for the missions, isn’t sure part of him even wants to go on them. The rest of him wants the distraction, the void fill it promises to focus his attention on something other than memories and too much noise. Still, the noise is too much. He’s picked the punching bag the furthest back he could get, but his hearing is better than it used to be, and even back here he can hear heartbeats and quick breaths, the pound of fists on skin. He hasn’t broken anything, yet, at least, no bones and no punching bags. It’s something.

_“The CEO of Queen Industries, billionaire Moira Queen, has just announced her run for Mayor of Starling City-”_

He stills, fist mid hit and eye darting up to the tv mounted at the top of the wall.

“ _I want to help the people of this city, like my husband Robert tried to_ ,” a blonde woman with Oliver’s eyes says. No, not quite Oliver’s eyes. They’re darker, more like crystal than marble, but the hue isn’t too far off. Her hair is lighter than his was, but it has the same lower curve to it that Oliver’s had towards the end- “ _I know things have been failing in this city, and for my family, since losing my husband, and for the Glades. I want to help my family heal, and I want to help this city heal, to make it a place that feels safe again, feel like **home** again, not just for my family, but for everyone’s._ ”

“Hey, father, wanna spar?”

Slade jolts, eye snapping over as he stiffens.

Right. Joe joined A.S.I.S. He knew, logically, was told after his second psych eval, but he hadn’t worked up to actually seeing him yet.

“Joe,” he returns, not neutral, not a tearful reunion, but his heart beats faster in his chest, faster than it already was. It’s good to see him, it’s _beyond_ good to see him, almost as tall as he is and filling out with muscle, strong, alive, healthy. An old stone turns over in him and Slade settles, and lets out a long, slow breath, fingers uncurling where they’d been clenched fists at his sides.

“Mom said you were back,” Joe says, would be an observation if his lips didn’t flatten accusingly and his expression didn’t tighten. He’s grown, but not all the way, not yet. It’s a relief, somewhere, but still emphasises how much time has passed like a kick to the gut. Five years, and Joe’s gone from topping out at Slade’s waist to being an almost grown man. It’s terrifying.

His eye darts to the screen briefly, fingers curling again when he sees the news has moved on, and drags his focus back.

“You didn’t come see us,” Joe finally says bluntly, shoulders taut, “It’s been two weeks.”

 _Has it?_ he thinks. Time wasn’t real save for the sun and moon, dawn and dusk on the island. Being back here where things like clocks and the schedules that follow them are the every day thing is still surreal. He used to run on schedules, now they’re a cage he’s not sure he wants to be in.

“I didn’t,” Slade agrees, glancing at the tv one more time before letting out a quiet breath and looking at Joe, making himself really look at him for the first time in years. “I wasn’t ready.”

Joe’s quiet for a moment, dark brows furrowed a bit like he’s thinking, like he wants to argue, but something else wins out and he rolls his shoulders back, lifting his head a little and looking away.

Still not fully grown, Slade thinks, not just yet.

He reaches over, slow enough Joe can dodge it when it comes into his periphery, and settles his hand on his son’s shoulder, gripping it firmly and letting the touch ground himself. Five years, and this is his _son_. Joe’s blue eyes shift back and they’re dark, almost. Slade knows how genetics work, enough to know about eye colors, but he’s still a little surprised Joe ended up with blue and not his dark or Adeline’s golden browns. They’re not Oliver’s shade either, or Moira Queens, and for once, that’s a relief.

He forces the thought away.

“I missed you,” he says, voice gruffer. He watches Joe swallow, watches his lips press together to stave off the impending tremble and Joe nods once, jerkily, reaching up to grip Slade’s shoulder back. Slade pulls him into a slow hug and Joe goes like a scared animal, not mild, but not fighting. Strong arms wrap around him, surprise him with their strength, tighten further still and Slade returns the embrace, grips him just as tight and closes his eye, and lets his son ground him in the present, ignoring the eyes he can feel. It’s even easier this time.

\-----

He stares down at the burner phone sitting innocuously on the kitchen counter. He spent the rest of the day with Joe, called Adeline just to establish contact, looked up Oliver’s phone number with resources he shouldn’t have, and then- bought the phone.

“ _If I don’t make it back in time...and you get out of here...I want you to call my family. Call my family.”_

 _“...Sure, kid._ ”

It was five years ago, before everything, but-...

He swipes the phone up and dials the operator, putting in his request and holding his breath when the line eventually rings. It rings, and rings, and then a click makes his jaw clench.

“ _Hello, Queen Residence, this is Moira Queen speaking_.” The same voice from the tv.

He forces out a breath.

“ _Hello?_ ”

Pulls another one in.

Her inflection is similar to Oliver’s, controlled in a way he can’t put a word to, like a mask. Oliver wore plenty of masks.

“Oliver wanted me to call you if he didn’t make it,” he forces out slowly, fingers curling into a fist at his side while his heart beats too fast, too hard. He tries not to crush the phone. “That’s what I’m doing.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Offended incredulity.

 _Oliver’s mother_ , he thinks distractedly, tries to imagine Oliver calling his son and _can’t_. How would his son have reacted if he hadn’t been the one to make it?

“He told me to call you if he didn’t make it,” Slade repeats, doesn’t know what else to say, doesn’t-

“ _This isn’t funny_ ,” Moira’s voice returns, firm and stern and sharp, “ _If this is some kind of joke, it’s_ -”

“He washed on up on the same island near China I had and I knew your son,” he states as firmly as he can and her voice cuts off. He hears a sucked in breath, then another, hears something fumble and then sharp clacks against plastic.

“ _You knew-...you knew him?_ ” she asks, voice shaky. She’s not going to last much longer, he thinks, and neither is he. “ _You knew my boy?_ ”

“I did,” he reaffirms, voice tight, “He wanted me to call you if-”

“ _If he didn’t make it_ ,” she finishes for him, voice going tighter than his own, “ _Oh God. My baby was_ _**alive**_ -”

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” he gets out, then hangs up and tears the phone in half, letting the crumbled pieces land on the countertop, loud in the quiet. He rests on his palms on the edge of the counter and leans forward, head hanging over the broken phone. Something dark shifts in his periphery and he jerks, eye darting over, but doesn’t move.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Oliver whispers, eyes the blue he hasn’t seen in anyone since the island, and then he’s gone in a blink and Slade’s hand jerks out, catches nothing but air and he stares at the empty space.

 _Oliver_ , he thinks, throat going tight and the back of his eye stinging. He grits his teeth and curls forward, pressing his forehead to the cool counter.

“ _But did you really think it’d be that easy_.”

He jerks up, staring where Oliver’s standing again, green hood over his black, long sleeved shirt and bow in hand, arrow in the other, brows drown low together and teeth bared.

“ _You left me to **die!**_ ” Oliver shouts, and Slade jerks back just before the arrow comes down on his empty eye. It and Oliver are gone again in a blink, and he leans back until his lower back hits the edge of the counter, staring up at where the arrow had been coming down. He slides down until he hits the floor, resting a forearm on a knee and leaning forward, pressing his forehead hard to it.

“I’m sorry,” he forces out, less than he had with Oliver’s mother, and presses his forehead harder, fingers curling into fists, “ _I’m sorry_.”

\-----

“You are ready.”

He shifts his eyes up where he’s kneeling, forearm over his knee.

“No more are you Oliver Queen, but now you are Al Sah-Him,” Ra’s states, dark green robe trailing out along the stone floor and edges catching the orange light from the torches lining the room.

‘ _The Arrow_ ’, he mentally translates. Ra’s gestures with a hand and he rises to his feet.

“You are home,” Ra’s says, and Al Sah-Him nods, sees blonde and dark hair in his periphery amidst the circle of warriors clad in the same black he is, standing tall and proud.

“I am.”


	2. The light behind your eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think I'm just gonna post these chapters up as they come. No schedule my dudes.  
> Thank you very much to Mz_Valkyrie for looking these over for me. <333 I really really appreciate it, and it's fun talking about these two with you. XD

“I have to go take care of something,” Slade says, stuffing clothes into his duffel bag over his swords.

“‘Take care of something’?” Joe repeats incredulously, “You just got _back_. What could you possibly have to take care of?”

Slade yanks the zipper closed, careful not to break it off this time. He’s not used to Joe arguing with him like this, questions more pointed, more thought out, like an adult. “A debt I owe.”

“Debt?” Joe asks. Slade turns to look at him, sees his furrowed brows and confusion. He doesn’t understand. With any luck, he never will.

He catches Oliver in his peripheral and forces himself not to look, not in front of his son, turning back to grab his duffel up, shouldering the straps and heading out of the bedroom.

“Father,” Joe calls, following him out into the living room, “ _Dad!_ ”

Slade pauses at the door, hand on the knob. His heart beats faster and he tightens his grip, easing up when he catches the faint sound of metal protesting.

“How can you just up and leave?” Joe asks, sounding younger than his twenty years. And _God_ , it breaks his heart, it does, and if it were anything else, if _he_ were anything else, he’d stay.

He sees movement close in his periphery, a dark shirt and green-

“I have to go,” he forces out, “I owe him.”

“Owe _who?_ ” Joe demands, a slight plea underneath.

“An old friend,” Slade leaves it at, pulling the door open and not bothering to ask Joe to lock it on his way out.

\--

After white knuckling it through a too long flight, even with it being A.S.I.S. transport, he lands in Starling City. He grabs his bag out of the overhead compartment and exits the jet, down the stairs and out to the black rental car. The city name is bright red across a gold background, a banner in glowing lights across the top arch of the airport. He looks up at it through the car’s tinted windows after throwing his duffel on the floor in the back and then turns his attention back forward, starting the car.

He checks into a cheap motel, drops his duffel on the end of the bed on top of the crappy orange comforter and then pulls out his phone.

From what he’d found out before he left, Moira Queen runs Queen Consolidated, the family company, alongside her husband, Walter Steele, and Thea Queen attends a local, private high school. Their schedules are practically public record, which makes his jaw clench. It’ll make his job both easier and harder.

He didn’t have to come all this way; he shouldn’t have come all this way. Keeping watch of the Queens until his two month leave is up is a fool’s errand that will probably get him fired or arrested or both, but he owes it to the kid. It’s the least he can do. The sister-

“ _Thea_ ,” Oliver corrects sharply.

-will be the harder one to keep track of. He didn’t need to be around Joe going through his teen years to know that (his chest twinges and he pushes the thought and regrets aside).

A name on his screen catches his attention and he focuses back on the dark lettering against the glow of it.

‘ _Thea Queen kidnapped last night_ -’

He stills, then grabs the remote up off of the bedside table and turns on the old tv set against the back wall.

“ _Thea Queen was reported missing this morning when she failed to return home_ ,” the news anchor reports, “ _The kidnappers have issued a ransom of ten million dollars, the location being kept quiet by the Starling City Police. Moira Queen_ -”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Slade grunts as he drops the remote and moves back to his duffel. _Haven’t even been here an hour and already the sister’s in trouble_ , he thinks grudgingly, _She’s worse than_ -

He cuts that thought off, glancing up at Oliver stationed expectantly near the door, and pulls his swords out.

“I’m going, I’m going,” he says low.

\-----

He tails one of the family’s bodyguards, someone new, who isn’t hard to track down. They’re second to the family itself in terms of visibility, and that’s not counting the white shirt and black suit that stand out like a sore thumb in a sea of civilians. His hearing’s good enough to pick up talk around the brick, street corner where he’s ordered a black coffee, standing off to the side apart from the tables of customers sat outside, barely sipping his drink for appearance’s sake while he listens.

“ _You want to be the one to tell her?”_

 _“Hell no_.”

A sigh.

A pause.

“ _Ma’am. She was last seen leaving Poison at 2AM_ ,” one reports, “ _A couple people said she got in a black convertible with a dark haired man heading towards the Glades_.”

He pulls his phone out, dropping his coffee in the nearest trash bin.

‘The Glades’ is apparently the shitty part of the city. The kidnappers won’t stay there, unless they’re confident or holed up somewhere they’re familiar with. Ten million is low for someone who knows what they’re doing, so they may be inexperienced.

“ _The cops are on their way_.”

He refocuses on the bodyguards at that.

“ _Left ten minutes ago_.”

He pockets his phone and heads straight for his car, pulling the door open and slipping inside.

\-----

_1 Hour Later_

Moira looks up from the living room couch when the mansion’s front door opens and immediately stands from Walter’s arm around her, clenching the tissue tighter as she rushes forward around the coffee table. “Oh my God, _Thea_ ,” she lets out wetly. Moira wraps her up in her arms, feels the slight tremor running through her and tightens her grip. She pulls back after a moment, ducking her head a little as she grips Thea’s arms. “Are you alright? Thea?”

Thea’s eyes are red, a little puffy, nose just the same, her gaze distant and eyes catching the surrounding, warm lamp glows as she stares somewhere past Moira’s left cheek.

“Thea?” Moira repeats, grip tightening. Thea’s eyes jump to hers and Thea swallows, steeling herself.

“I’m fine,” she says, and Moira reels her back in, tucking Thea’s head under her chin as she lets out the breath she’s been holding since last night.

“She said a man in black with swords saved her.”

Moira’s eyes shift up to Detective Lance, lips pressing together at the look on his face. “Swords?” she makes herself ask.

“Know anyone like that?” Lance presses, toeing the line just shy of snide and accusing, like he has been for the past five years.

“Detective, if I did, I would have hired them sooner,” Moira replies stiffly. Lance huffs a breath, shaking his head and she focuses back on what’s important. “Thea, they didn’t hurt you?” she double checks, can’t help holding her just a little tighter regardless of her words, “The man didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m fine, mom,” Thea repeats a little distantly, “He didn’t hurt me. He…” she trails off, and Moira strokes a hand down her mussed hair. Nothing else comes out, and Moira lets it go for now.

“Let’s get you upstairs and get you cleaned up,” Moira says gently, just as gently guiding Thea to the staircase. “Thank you, detectives,” she says as polite as she can, if a little pointedly. She thinks she hears a huff and a quiet, sarcastic, “ _Let’s go_ ,” from Lance before the scuffing of shoes on the carpet then out the front door.

_1 Hour Earlier_

One of the masked men paces by her and Thea can’t help the shudder that ripples through her, biting her lower lip and keeping her head low. She tries not to shift too much against the stiff wooden chair beneath her.

“Would you _quit that_. You’re making _me_ restless,” one of the kidnappers snaps.

“Should be here in ten minutes, then we’re done with this,” another returns.

“You said that ten minutes ago.”

“Would you stop, I’m keeping track,” another snaps.

A huff.

She doesn’t look, keeps her eyes glued to the dirty cement floor and winces a little when shifting pulls at the ropes, making them dig harder into her sore wrists. She sniffles. The last thing she needs is _snot_ running down her face.

They took her to a warehouse, that’s all she knows. The last thing she remembers was popping a couple pills in the passenger seat of a handsome guy’s car from the club, hoping to keep her high floating. Next thing she knew she was on a mattress on the floor in a crappy room, hands and ankles bound with a gag in her mouth. They moved her here, at some point, after blindfolding her, some warehouse in a place that smells like apples, metal and rust. At least she’s not blind and gagged anymore.

“Quit pacing and go check the perimeter,” the leader orders, at least she thinks it’s the leader. His hockey mask is red unlike the other two, a king card printed on the left side over the eye. Footsteps scuff off to the left and grow quiet as they fade. She closes her eyes and takes another breath, sniffling as quietly as she can.

It’s quiet for a few minutes after that, then a few more. She lifts her head a fraction when she realizes the guy hasn’t-

“Where is he?” The second guy asks, hockey mask white with a spade design on the right.

The one in the red mask pulls a gun out of the back of his pants and she ducks her head again, looking around out of the corners of her wide eyes.

“Lenny?” the red one calls, taking a step in the direction the other guy had gone. There’s nothing and she tenses in the chair, trying to keep still. “Lenny!” the man tries again, shifting closer to her when there’s still no reply-

Something drops down and lands with a _thud_ and her head whips up, eyes widening to see a- a man clad in black swing a sword. He slices the red mask’s hand off at the wrist, scream cutting off into a loud gurgle as the blade goes through his neck, a second sword sweeping around to stab into the white mask guy’s gut. The man in black stills briefly before yanking both blades out with a vicious jerk, blood splattering in a streak up the cement floor as both bodies drop. Thea jumps at the hard _thuds_ , staring up, heart beating rabbit quick in her chest.

“A-are you-” she stutters out, words grinding to a halt as the masked man turns to face her fully. He’s wearing some sort of body armor, plates of a hard plastic, textured looking material covering his thighs, shins, forearms, and biceps, panels slanting down in a v-shape on the section covering his chest. His head is covered in a menacing black mask that makes him look angry, obscuring everything but a dark left eye. He steps closer and she jolts, holding her breath and staring sightlessly ahead as he rounds behind her chair out of her periphery. She squeezes her eyes shut, says a quick prayer to Oliver, and-

Her wrist bindings come undone with barely a sound and her arms are free, eyes snapping open as she quickly springs up from the chair and whips around, rubbing at her wrists held up close to her chest. Questions bubble up to the back of her tongue, but she holds them in, staring.

“You’ll be fine, Thea,” the man says, voice low and gruff. She twitches a little and then blinks.

Sirens sound in the distance and she whips around, sees flashing red and blue approaching through the loading square in the wall before quickly looking back-

He’s gone.

She stares at the empty space where he was, two bodies bleeding out across the floor as the police rush in, guns up and shouted words fuzzy with all the static between her ears.

\-----

Slade pulls the mask off after he kicks the motel room door shut with his heel and sighs, dropping his head back as he closes his eye.

“ _We’re going to be like Tarzan when we get back,” Oliver says, gazing into the fire._

_“Swinging from rooftops?” Shado muses._

_“Bet Slade’ll take a sword to the throat of the first person who gets too close,” Oliver jokes._

_“Should’ve taken a sword to **you** ,” Slade mutters._

_Oliver huffs a breath while Shado smiles. “But then who would keep us entertained?” she teases._

_“Hey!” Oliver protests._

_Slade snorts. “You have a point. Things might actually get a little **too** dull without him around.”_

_“‘He’ is right here!” Oliver lets out, then pauses, eyes widening as he stares at Slade, “Did you just give me a compliment?”_

_“I said you weren’t **completely** useless,” Slade replies._

_“That’s practically the same thing!” Oliver says, grinning._

_Slade lobs a pebble at him and Oliver ducks right, out of the way. “Go check the traps.”_

_Oliver gets up. “Your avoidance technique could use some work,” he smirks._

_Slade chucks another pebble at him that Oliver dances away from while Shado laughs, a rare sound, light and carefree_.

 _Guess he wasn’t wrong about Tarzan_ , Slade thinks, slanting his eye over to where Oliver’s lurking in the corner of the room like the spectre he is. Talking to it, acknowledging it makes it worse, he learned that early on, but he can’t help telling it, “Your sister will be fine.”

Oliver’s head lowers a little, glaring across the room at him like he’s the one that abducted her. Like he’s the one that-

He cuts off that thought, looking away to shove his mask back in his bag.

 _I did_ , he thinks, closing his eye briefly, _I did kill him_.

\-----

_Lian Yu, 4 Years Ago_

_“They have to die.”_

_“They’re prisoners, Ollie!” Sara counters, blocking the one trying to scramble up from the water behind her to make a break for the ramp. The ship lists a little further to the side, water gushing in from all the leaks and metal grinding, and they all stumble, water sloshing before they catch their balance. The prisoner takes off, Oliver’s eyes sliding past her to track him like a dog locked on a scent. The fire raging across the cargo sends half of him in near shadow, cutting dark shapes across his clothes and skin, even while the light catches his eyes and sets them ablaze. He doesn’t look like Ollie, the boy she had a crush on, her friend. He looks like a rabid dog about to break off his tenuous leash. “They were victims of Ivo’s, just like I was, just like Shado. Just like you were!” “_

_**That’s all the more reason** ,” Oliver growls out, dropping his eyes back to her, and Sara’s shoulders stiffen. Slade tightens his grip on the sword in his hand where he’s half crouched next to a rusted, fallen steel beam, water dripping into his hair from above and sliding down his dirty cheek, the side of his neck, creeping down to soak into the top of his scarf. “I can’t- I can’t think past this **poison** in my veins,” Oliver gets out, hand coming up to press hard at the side of his head, “I can **still feel his scalpel scraping into my side**.” He drops his hand, glaring up at her, eyes wild. “If I can still feel it, so can they. If I can still hear him in my head, goading, **praising, so can they!** ”_

_Oliver rushes forward and Slade moves, gets his arms up under Oliver’s and yanks him back with a grunt. Oliver thrashes, yelling while Sara stares wide eyed, fire nearby reflecting off the blue and shining them near-white._

_“What is going on?!” Shado calls down from the catwalk overhead, bow and arrow angled down and barely visible where she’s bathed in dark, “We need to leave!”_

_“He’s losing it!” Slade manages to call back, grunting at the elbow to his ear. He’s losing it too, he knows he is, but Oliver is-_

_“Let me-! Go, Slade!” Oliver shouts, frantic and wild like he’s never heard him, and Slade missed the arrow in his hand, doesn’t realize Oliver has it until he’s arcing it up and over and back and sinking it down into his eye. Slade lets out a shout as the pain splinters out throughout his face like fractured glass, jerking back as he lets go. He doesn’t have the focus to pay attention, doesn’t realize the angle his sword is coming up at and_ -

He jerks awake with a sharp, sucked in breath, hand coming up to cover the eyepatch. He stares up at the ceiling, the sound of the water sloshing, the fire burning, the ship’s metal squealing as it lists slowly fading from his ears. He can still feel the water soaked into his pants and boots and socks, the distant heat of the fire burning at the left of the center of the ship’s prison cages. He can still feel the phantom echoes of the pain in his face, his head, smell the salt in the water and in their blood spilling out like separate fountains.

He forces himself to sit up and scoots back until his back hits the cheap headboard, looking around the room and quickly spotting his ghost. Oliver is crouched down in front of the tv, no reflection of him in its dark screen as he gazes up at the tip of the blood covered arrow in his hand.


	3. You've been all the way to broken

They’ve hired a new bodyguard, Slade observes, watching through his binoculars where he’s camped out on a rooftop under the blazing summer sun. It’s not as hot as back home, or the island, but it’s warm enough. He takes a bite of his sandwich and chews, watching Thea Queen enter her highschool building while her new bodyguard walks back from the entrance gate to the black car parked against the curb. Dark skin, dark, close cut hair, and moves like a soldier. He’s bigger in bulk than even Slade himself, not that that’s going to be a problem if he becomes a problem.

It’s been three days since the kidnapping and Queen’s already back at school. Slade’s not sure if he should be impressed by her fortitude or begrudging it for making his job harder. It was easier keeping an eye on her and Moira when they were both in the same building. Still, if he can only keep an eye on one at a time, Thea is the more vulnerable, even with her shiny new bodyguard.

He takes another bite of his sandwich, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the smell of the city. It’s cleaner up here in the richer part of town, but he can still smell hints of garbage in the ocean on the wind, car fumes and exhaust, smoke from a fire pit. They don’t come together to make the best aroma.

He glances down over the side of the roof, sees a woman walking her dog, three guys laughing as they head to their convertible, a gaggle of teenage girls heading towards the school building. Trees dot the sidewalk, expensive cars line the curb, black iron fences cage in the immaculate yards. Slade leans back and takes another bite of his sandwich. It’s all too rich for his blood.

He fingers the phone in his pocket and squints out through his sunglasses towards the busier part of the city, the skyscrapers stretching up towards the cloudless blue sky and sun rays reaching down to caress all the glass in blinding light. Maybe he could text Joe, just to let him know that he hasn’t run off for good, again. He’s not sure calling’s a good idea, but texting, maybe. He’d need to find his number first, but a call to A.S.I.S. would be enough to get that, if he was willing to risk it.

He pulls his phone out while he takes another bite, pausing when the still up browser page on the news site refreshes and he sees:

_‘Sword Wielding Vigilante Saves Billionaire Heiress’_

He chews faster and swallows before he keeps reading.

_‘Local sources say billionaire heiress, Thea Queen, was rescued from kidnappers three nights ago by a sword wielding man in back. No other current sources have reported sightings since, but we’re left to wonder if this was a one time occurence, or if there will be more.’_

Slade stares.

“‘Vigilante’?” he grunts. Not that he wouldn’t gladly put his foot up some kidnapper’s ass, but that’s not why he’s here. 

Then again, he frowns, brows drawing low as he considers it, if he doesn’t save anyone else they’ll catch on that he’s hovering around the Queen family, which will make his job even _harder_. He’s already lacking in equipment to properly observe the Queens as is, adding the sole focus of the city _and_ the police force if they figure out his patterns would drive him back out of the country.

He growls quietly under his breath, dragging his eyes up to glare out at the city. “Fuck.”

\-----

He kicks the mugger straight into the loitering trash bins and tries to ignore the loud noise of them clattering to the ground like bowling pins, sound ricocheting up the sides of the alley’s brick walls, feeling cliche as hell. He silently brandishes his sword at the asshole and the guy scurries off. Slade huffs a breath and glances back.

The woman stares up at him, gold hair shining under the nearby fluorescent lamp light.

“You’re not gonna...uh...hurt me, are-” She clamps her mouth and squeezes her eyes shut as he swings his sword up, sheathing it on his back. She peeks out at him through slitted eyes, blinking quickly and staring up wide eyed as he stares down at her.

“Go home,” he grunts out roughly, and she jolts, scrambling up and grabbing her bag off the alley cement, then scurrying off too, like a mouse from a cat. He takes stock of the area before wrinkling his nose under his mask at the smell wafting from the knocked over bins.

\-----

“So,” Lucas starts, and Lance tries rubbing at the bridge of his nose a little harder, attempting to stave off the oncoming headache, “First sighting was with Thea Queen, now we’ve got someone reporting a guy in black with a sword stopped a mugging in progress up towards the Glades.”

Lance blows out a breath, giving up on preventing the headache and opening his eyes, sitting forward to look at the file again. “Yeah, a regular swashbuckling do-gooder. _Hurray_ ,” he lets out sarcastically. Lucas pops up an eyebrow at him and Quentin sighs.

“Please don’t tell me we’re calling him ‘Swashbuckler’,” Lucas says.

Quintin stares up at him incredulously. “We’re not calling the psychopath _anything_. We’re gonna catch this guy before this gets out of hand.”

Lucas raises his hands in mock surrender which just makes Quentin’s jaw tick more because yeah, he can’t guarantee that either, and it _pisses him off_.

\-----

Slade sips tiredly at his black coffee, tries to focus on the heat sliding down the back of his throat to pool in his empty stomach, lips pinching at the kick up of nausea in the pit of it. He glances out his sunglasses from his spot against the beginning of the alley wall, leaned back against the morning cool cement, across to the entrance of Queen Consolidated. He can see Oliver standing there like a pillar in the sea of people, staring right at him in his dirt covered clothes and worn hood, the green like a beacon in the sun in the tide of beige and black and white.

He wouldn’t stop talking last night, and if that wasn’t bad enough-

“ _Think you’re a hero now, Slade?_ ” Billy hisses in his ear, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“We all know I’m not,” he mutters back, can’t resist the niggling urge to fire a shot back, as weary and useless as it is.

Now he’s being followed around by two ghosts.

He focuses when he catches sight of Thea in the lobby, walking forward to hug her mother before they head into the elevator, bodyguard tailing them. He lifts his cup to take another sip-

He pauses, catching sight of the mousey girl from the alley a few nights ago. Her blonde ponytail swings a little as she makes a beeline for the elevators, rectangular glasses perched on her nose.

He sips his coffee thoughtfully, and tries to keep his eyes from shifting back to Oliver when the elevator doors close.

\-----

He keeps watch over Thea the next couple days, has to trail her when she skips school with her friends, and keeps an eye on the local news page on his phone, refreshing it every so often to check on Moira. Then, _sometimes_ , he goes out at night to deal with city lowlife, a thankless, exasperating job, so familiar territory, at least. It’s when he catches Queen popping a few pills behind a mall with her small group of socialite friends that he groans, feeling his 39 years.

 _Don’t make this worse, don’t make this worse_ , he thinks.

She makes it worse, inadvertently.

He wakes up the next morning to a news report of a girl last seen at Poison, the same club he’d sat across from all night last night while Queen was dancing, having been hit by a car, a new drug found in her system. Not too out of the ordinary, except he’s been hearing whispers during his night job about a new drug on the streets, something new with a current death toll attached to it, and Thea’s proximity puts the thing on his damn list.

He’s camped out on another rooftop the next night, glowering over the edge at the bass music pounding in his ears and the blinding strobe lights flashing across the street, both going right to his head to give him a headache.

“She lives in these clubs more than she lives at home,” he grumbles quietly, pointedly ignoring the figures in his periphery. They don’t talk to him outside of angry accusations and snide remarks. It took him a shameful week to realize that at first, when he was still stranded on the island, the Amazo a sunken weight in the water, resting against the rocks and pebbled sand like a forgotten, collapsed disaster. Another wreckage right at home in Purgatory.

“ _Maybe she wouldn’t if you hadn’t killed me_ ,” Oliver accuses back, and it cuts Slade up like a knife right between the ribs, and then Billy twists it with a sneer in his voice: “ _All you did for that brat, and you still **failed**_ **.** ”

Slade grunts quietly and resolves to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the night.

A commotion down below catches his attention, and Queen comes screeching out of the club’s front doors, the line of people off to the side all turning their gazes as she runs up to a brand new convertible, hopping into the driver’s seat and pushing the keys in with a huge grin on her face before her bodyguard can catch up. She takes off down the street and Slade’s already running, keeping his cursing to himself.

Right. _Birthday_.

He catches up with her half a mile away, front end dented into a pole and her slumped across a slowly deflating airbag. He glances around to make sure the area’s clear before stepping up next to the driver side door and reaching forward, pressing gloved fingertips to her neck.

A pulse, sped up, but there.

He lets out a slow breath and peers around her into the car, leaning over her back to reach in and grab the small bag of pills out of the center console.

“ _What_ -” she lets out roughly, cutting herself off with a pained groan as he pulls back.

“I’ll take these,” he says. She blinks her hazy eyes open and squints up at him fuzzily, blood drying down the side of her forehead.

“What,” she repeats before her eyes flutter shut, and he grabs her phone and dials 911 before tossing it in the passenger seat and walking away, pocketing the little plastic bag.

\-----

Thea comes to with a dulled but all encompassing ache in her head and _groans_ , groaning louder and slamming her eyes shut when the lights in the room pierce her skull through a narrow eyed peek.

“ _Thea_ ,” comes her mom’s voice with rushing steps and she can’t help _groaning_ again. Great.

“What- what happened,” she asks, tongue heavy in her mouth.

“You crashed your birthday present into a pole, is what happened,” Moira returns, concern bleeding out into stern scold, “Someone said they saw the sword man call an ambulance before leaving you there.”

“Great,” she grumbles, “I’ve got a psychopathic, sword wielding guardian-” She pauses, something niggling at her.

_“I’ll take these,” a low, rough voice says, dangling a little plastic bag._

“- _asshole_ following me,” she finishes emphatically.

“ _Thea!_ ” her mother scolds, and she closes her eyes so her mother can’t see her roll them.

\-----

“ _At the short hearing today, it was determined that billionaire heiress Thea Queen is being charged for possession and driving under the influence,”_ the anchor reports, footage of the Queen family heading up the courthouse steps surrounded by reporters and microphones playing, _“Some argue that she’s just another victim in the flood of the new drug they’re calling Vertigo hitting the streets, but others would disagree._ ”

 _So it has a name_ , Slade thinks, shutting the tv off and setting the remote aside as he rolls up out of bed, _She might be safer in prison_.

“ _You’re just going to let her rot? Like me?_ ” Oliver accuses from the corner.

Slade jerks slightly and pauses.

Maybe not.

He reaches over and grabs up the small plastic bag of pills, studying their bright green and dark purple coating. He needs to find out more about this drug. Maybe finding whoever made it will be enough to keep her out of prison.

Oliver doesn’t say anything to that, so Slade takes it as a go-ahead.

\-----

He yanks his sword out and flicks the blood off with a sharp twist of his wrist, listening to it splatter across the cement. The man slumps, eyes wide and hand making an aborted reach for his stomach before he tilts over against the wall and hits the ground with a faint, gurgled grunt.

“That makes five drug peddlers and no name,” he muses aloud, turning to look at the last man cowering against the wall, body trembling and eyes wide, “Care to not be number six?” The man lets out a squeak when Slade takes a slow step closer.

\--

Felicity hums to herself as she turns her key, getting her apartment door open and spinning in place to lock it. She walks over and sets her purse on the kitchen table, giving the plant in the center a light pat with a smile before taking her coat off and turning to hang it on the hook. She turns back around to-

She lets out a short, high pitched scream, hands flying to her chest as she stares like a deer caught in headlights at the sword wielding- _something_ standing in her living room. She darts a hand out for her purse, whipping her pepper spray out and aiming at him. “You-! You stay right over there! Oh my God I can’t believe there’s a sword wielding _maniac_ in my apartment! My mother was right, I should’ve stayed in Vegas!”

The man in black doesn’t say anything, just stands there staring at her with his one eye ( _one eye!_ ) She pants, trying to slow her speeding heart.

“Are you done?” he asks, voice just as low and gruff as it was in the alley, sounding even more unimpressed than last time, and she jumps, nearly pressing down on the button of her pepper spray even though he’s too far away for it to actually reach his ( _one_ ) eye.

“‘Done’? Done with what? _Living?_ Because let me tell you, mister, I’m not going down without a fight!” she lets out, shifting her legs for better fleeing position as she presses a little more firmly on top of the pepper spray can.

“I need your help,” he says.

“I’m not holding still for you to just- You what?” she cuts herself off, blinking. He shifts and she tenses. His motions slow drastically as he reaches a hand down, digging briefly into one of his hidden pockets and pulling out a- little plastic baggie? “What’s that?” she asks, brows drawn together.

“Vertigo,” he says, and she blinks again, “I need to find whoever’s making it. Your bio said you’re head of Queen Consolidated’s I.T. department with a background in chemical science.”

“You looked me up?” she demands, pausing, “Of course you looked me up,” she mutters, looking at him accusingly, “Too bad I can’t return the _favor_. Not a lot of guys running around in black masks with two swords, and you’re _still_ next to impossible to track down.” His head cocks a hair to the side and she sucks on her teeth briefly. “Why do you want to find who’s making Vertigo? Not that I don’t want whoever it is caught, but you’re just going to kill more people, right?”

“What I do is not up to you,” he growls back, and she jerks slightly at the gravel in his tone, “But people have died to make this drug, people are dying taking it. Do you want to sit idly by and watch the bodycount climb?”

She hesitates at that, tension tightening her shoulders as she thinks it over. After a minute, she relaxes a fraction, but keeps her pepper spray up. “What do you need?” He tosses the bag over and she lets out a surprised sound, scrambling to catch it. 

“Analyze that, _if you would_ ,” he says sarcastically, “And tell me what you find.” He turns and heads for her balcony doors.

“How do I get in contact with you?” she asks quickly, frowning at the casual way he just _turns the balcony door handle_. At least he didn’t break a window. She hopes. Even though that might actually be better. She’s getting the locks changed _immediately_. Or moving. Moving’s already looking like a good prospect.

She shudders, refocusing.

“I’ll contact you,” he answers, slipping out the door. She waits a beat, two, three before running over, heels clacking loud in the quiet, and pushing it shut, locking it. She pauses and then darts over and grabs a chair from her kitchen table, hauling it back over and wedging the top of the back up under the handles. She steps back with a huff, glaring at the door before looking at the little bag in her hand, holding it up to the light.

“Vigilantes and life ending street drugs,” she mutters, shoulders slumping with a sigh as the adrenaline drains out of her, leaving her exhausted, “I really should’ve stayed in Vegas.” 

_Wait a minute_ , she pauses, frowning in thought, _Did he have an accent?_

\--

John Diggle sighs as he slips into the driver seat, pulling the door shut and glancing up at the Queen mansion entrance. Moira Queen might not even have to fire him at this rate if Thea goes to prison, but at least for now he doesn’t have to worry about-

He freezes at the quiet, familiar _click_ from his back right, hand halting on its automatic way to his gun holster at the low, gruff, “ _Don’t_.” John keeps still, eyes darting to the rearview mirror. He can’t see much beyond a lot of black and the equally black gun pointed at the back of the base of his neck.

“What do you want?” he asks, quiet and even.

“You need to keep a better eye on Thea Queen,” the man returns, voice tinged with an accent underneath the harshness of it. John tries to keep his mind from whirling too fast so he can catalogue the sound of it.

“You’re that vigilante, aren’t you,” John says, not asks, “The one going around murdering people.”

“I’m not a vigilante,” the masked man replies.

“Then why are you doing all this?” John asks, narrowing his eyes a little, “A hired mercenary?”

The man snorts darkly, and John glances up at the mirror, sees the gun pull back a smidge. “I’m no mercenary. Just think of me as a concerned citizen, one who’s tired of doing your job.”

John’s jaw clenches a bit. “A ‘concerned citizen’ with sword training who seems to have an interest in the Queen family.” The guy doesn’t say anything to that and John sees the gun pull back a little more, whatever that means. The further it gets away, the better chance he has of grabbing it, if he dares.

“Just do your job,” the man orders, accent coming out further, “And I’ll do mine.”

“And what is that, exactly?” John risks pressing.

It’s quiet. He glances to the side, trying to get a look out of his periphery, and then back up into the mirror, stilling. He whips around, hand on his gun, but the back seat’s empty and the far door is open.

“The hell…” he mutters, looking around incredulously. Guy’s like a damn _ghost_.


	4. Ghost

_Slade steps out of the fuselage, watches Oliver glance up at him briefly before going back to staring into the flames burning in their little camp fire, elbows braced on his thighs. “You know what I miss the most?” Oliver asks, looking back up._

_Slade takes a seat on a log opposite him and lifts a brow in question._

_“Ice cream,” Oliver declares. Slade snorts quietly, lips twitching. Oliver’s curl up a little at the edges and he looks back down at the fire. “Pretty sure I had a dream about it last night.”_

_“When we get off this island you can have all the ice cream you want,” Slade replies._

_“You paying?” Oliver asks, and Slade glances back over at him, reading between the lines._

_‘Will you be there?’_

_Slade looks at him, really looks. He’s not the whiny brat he used to be five months ago. He can hunt the boar Slade used to have to hunt by himself, he can last half an hour in a fight against him or Shado. His complaints petered out the minute Fyer’s died in the burning camp, and he changed the second he resolved to kill. He’s not Oliver Queen anymore, not the one Slade met, Oliver's family or the world knew. He’s someone else, the Oliver Queen Slade carved, the one Shado tempered, the one they’ve come to trust to have their backs on this godforsaken island, the one Slade would follow into a fight if Oliver asked, and who would follow him into one whether he liked it or not._

_Slade scoffs, breaking the tension in the quiet, the fire crackling and black smoke drifting up to the star littered sky. “As the resident rich kid, I’m leaving that to you.”_

_Oliver’s lips curl up a little more and Slade can’t help his own doing the same._

_“I wonder what Shado’s favorite is?” Oliver muses._

_“Probably something ridiculous like bubblegum-coconut,” Slade returns._

_“ **Strawberry!** ” comes from inside the fuselage, and Slade snorts while Oliver laughs._

_Slade’s always wondered how he can do that, laugh so freely and smile so openly on one of the worst places on earth, and how Oliver can get Shado or him to do it at all, too. He tries to avoid thinking about it too much._

Slade sucks in a breath as he wakes, staring up at the ceiling again.

 _That was one of the last times I heard you laugh_ , he thinks, closing his eye against the all consuming ache in his chest.

\-----

He tails the Queens to Queen Consolidated in the morning, grabs another black coffee, and sets in to wait at the opening of a different alley across the street, keeping watch. John Diggle does a quick visual sweep as they head inside, keeping one arm around the Queens and the other forward to try and ward off the swarming, clamoring reporters. Slade sips at his coffee while he watches through his sunglasses, twitching when someone steps close in his periphery.

“ _Don’t you have something to do?_ ” Oliver asks accusingly.

“Don’t you have someone else to haunt?” Slade mutters, not meaning a word of it.

“ _I would, if **they’d** been the ones to kill me_ ,” Oliver returns.

Slade closes his eye and takes a longer drink of his coffee, focusing on the burn in his mouth and down his throat before the mirakuru soothes it away like it was never there.

The Queens are in the building most of the day, only leaving as the sun starts setting, hitting all the nearby skyscrapers and washing them in blinding oranges and pinks and gold. He tails them back to the house in his car, careful to keep a fair distance away, but close enough to act if something happens, then parks once they start on the drive up to the mansion itself, waiting half an hour to make sure nothing happens before shoving off.

\-----

Lucas stops by Quentin’s desk and drops the newspaper down on top of it. Lance jerks back and stares down, reading it. “No,” he says.

“Yep,” Lucas replies.

“ _No_ ,” Lance groans childishly, leaning back and scrubbing at his face with both hands before pushing his fingers up and back through his hair, making a mess of it, “They _named_ him.”

“They did,” Lucas confirms.

Lance groans again before shoving himself up out of his chair and grabbing his jacket off the back of it.

“Where are you off to?” Lucas asks.

“To have dinner with my baby girl and _not_ think about that,” Lance replies sternly. 

Lucas’ eyes trail him, brows quirking.

\-----

Felicity jumps, a hand flying up to her chest with an, “ _Oh dear lord_ ,” at the sudden, hard tapping from her balcony door. She forces herself to take a breath and stands from her kitchen table, cautiously making her way over. She peeks through the blinds and jolts a little when she sees the black mask, glaring back at the dark eye watching her through it before pulling her finger out and letting the blinds shut. “First, apologize,” she orders loud and clear.

“ _For?_ ” the gruff voice replies from the other side of the door.

“For breaking into my home to help you with your vigilante-ing business,” she snips back, “I feel unsafe in my own home.” She thinks she hears a huff and then it’s quiet for a couple moments, then-

“ _I apologize for making you feel unsafe in your own home_ ,” the masked man says, a little like he’s reciting something he read, but she thinks it’s a sixty-thirty ratio. That, and he’s a sword wielding stranger. The fact that he’s apologizing at all? She’ll take it.

She pulls the chair back and unlocks the left door, quickly shuffling back when it opens and his imposing, weapon geared frame steps through.

“So,” she says, shuffling back until her rear end bumps into the edge of her kitchen table, because she is not turning her back on him for a _second_ , “Hear they’re calling you ‘ _The Ghost_ ’ now.” He grunts and she half turns to her tablet, tapping at a few keys. “I found something you can use to track down whoever’s making Vertigo. A breakdown of the capsules yielded an ingredient list, and one of the solvents used can be traced back to the water around the East Glades area where it meets the bay. There’s an abandoned juvenile detention center there.” She looks back over at him. “If I was a drug concocting psychopath, I reckon that would seem like a horribly appropriate place to set up shop.”

He looks at the screen for a moment, studying all the readouts, and then turns to head back for the door.

“Slade Wilson!” she blurts out, snapping her mouth shut when he goes deathly still. _This is a risk, this is a risk, this is such a risk_ , she thinks.

He slowly turns at the waist, just enough to squint his one eye back at her. “What did you say?”

“A.S.I.S. agent. On leave since a little over three weeks ago, went missing for five years,” she rattles off, trembling faintly. She swallows. “That’s you, isn’t it.” He doesn’t say anything, just watches her, and she tries not to appear as unnerved as she is. Confronting a sword wielding, extremely dangerous, potential _secret intelligence operative who was away from civilization for five years_ seemed like a better idea when she wasn’t actually doing it. “The accent,” she blurts, dense tension and overbearing silence making her snap, “That’s all I was missing to narrow down the search parameters. Australian. And by the sound of you, you’re older, and by your build and the way you wield your-” She flaps her hands at, well, all of him. “-weapons, you’re very, _very_ well trained. And I was right, if your file was anything to go by,” she adds in a mutter.

He slowly turns fully towards her and she stiffens.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she says quickly, “It’s just- You’re _terrifying_ , you _broke into my home_ , and you _murder people_. I didn’t- I _don’t_ want to feel so powerless ever again.” He’s silent, even his eye unreadable, and she stays quiet as long as she can until she feels like she’s fit to burst. “Are you going to kill me? Is this a ‘if I told you, I’d have to kill you’ situation? Or a ‘if you find out, I’ll have to kill you’ situation?”

It’s silent again, his eye still worryingly, frustratingly unreadable until- 

He huffs. The sound turns into a low laugh and she blinks quickly, fingers twitching once at her sides.

“Are you... _laughing?_ ” she asks, high and incredulous. He looks around her apartment and then reaches up. She tenses like a hare but he- hooks his thumb up under his black mask and pulls it up and off over his head, revealing the person from the A.S.I.S. file picture she’d found earlier. Darker skin, darker than a tan, and short, black, spiked hair, a large, boxy jaw and one dark eye, the other covered by a pirate eyepatch.

“Well done,” he says, voice still low and gruff but...less.

Her brows draw together, confusion a swirling, full body mass. “You’re _congratulating_ me?” she asks, can hear that same confusion littering her tone.

“You’re more resourceful than I gave you credit for,” he says, one side of his mouth tugging up into a small smirk.

Her fingers curl into fists as she straightens up. “Do all your compliments come out so backhanded?”

He rolls his shoulders in a shrug and she huffs a breath. He smirks again and she wants to roll her eyes, but remembers she’s still in the room with a stranger. Who broke in. Who uses swords to kill people. His file says he works for the Australian government, but he’s still from something more black ops than a soldier on leave. Still something more dangerous than- a lot of things.

“So...what now?” she asks quieter. His smirk fades and she makes herself take a slow breath, body tense, prepared to bolt.

“Now, I go find the Vertigo maker,” he says.

“And me?” she asks.

He raises an eyebrow. “ _You_ will be fine, if you don’t breathe a word of who I am to anyone.”

Her mouth twists as he pulls his mask back on and turns back for the door. “You’re going to kill them, aren’t you.”

“I need one alive,” he says, so- _casually_.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks, even though she’s connected those dots too. But they don’t make sense. “Why are you protecting the Queen Family?” He stops. “This all started with you saving Thea Queen. You’re not a mercenary, I don’t think,” she adds in a mutter, “And as far as I know, the Queen family nor Water Steele has ever dealt with the Australian government, haven’t even traveled there. So why- why?”

It’s quiet again, tense, but...something else. She’s not sure what.

“I owe that family a debt I can never repay,” he finally answers, and her brows draw together again.

“‘Debt’?” she asks, but he slips out the balcony door before she can press further, and she’s left in the silence again, wondering as she stares out at the other side of the brick alley through the gap between the door and the frame.

\--

The drug operation isn’t hard to find after that. He’s in the building in minutes, trailing deserted cement halls for a few more before he comes across the laboratory in the abandoned mess hall, crates stacked around and steel tables covered in equipment, refracting light around the cement room and lighting it up in bright green-yellow and sharp, stark black shadows. There’s half silhouetted men with rifles milling around while people in their underwear covered in full body, plastic raincoats shuffle along the tables, working.

Slade takes a breath, rolls his shoulders back, and runs, drawing his gun.

 _One, two, three, four_ , he mentally counts off, a bullet going into each of their heads, rolling behind a crate more out of instinct than anything when five and six shoot at him. He can’t really afford to call in to get his uniform replaced, so that’s a good enough reason to not get it covered in bullet holes.

He draws his sword and stands up just long enough to throw it across the room, the blade going through five’s chest and sending his gunfire into the equipment on the table and number six.

Slade runs when the leader bolts, some lanky guy in a dark peacoat. He rips his sword out of five’s chest on the way and ignores the fleeing workers and screams, eyes set on the back of the peacoat as he quickly closes the distance. He grabs the collar and _yanks_ back, hears the guy’s strangled choke before he lets go and gets the guy’s wrists in a hold at his tailbone, bringing his sword up under his chin with his other hand.

“So you’re the _Ghost_ ,” the guy draws out thinly, turning his head to look back with wide eyes and a manic smile, “Guess you’re not a story after all.”

Slade pulls his arm back and rams the hilt of his sword into the base of the guy’s neck and lets him drop.

\--

Quentin Lance twitches in his seat when his phone goes off, ringtone muffled in his pocket as it vibrates against his side, and gives Laurel an apologetic look as he fishes it out. “Sorry, baby, one sec.” He sees his partner’s name on the caller I.D. and hits answer, bringing it up to his ear as he looks away. “Yeah?”

“ _Ghost left us a present_ ,” Lucas reports, “ _The guy making Vertigo was found knocked out in the center of his whole operation, his crew dead. Bullet and sword wounds_.”

Lance holds in a groan. “Anything on him?”

“ _None_ ,” Lucas replies, “ _But the Vertigo ringleader is down and singing like a songbird, if a nasally one. Wants to be called the ‘Count’_.”

“Well at least he’s egotistically cooperative,” Lance replies, “Alright. Thanks.” He hangs up and pockets his phone, looking back up. “Laurel, I gotta-”

“Go. I know,” she finishes for him, taking a sip of her wine, the warm lights reflecting even warmer off her golden brown hair. “Go, I’ll finish up here.”

“If you’re sure?” he asks, but he’s already getting up out of his chair, heedless of the guilt kicking him hard in his chest.

“I’m sure,” she smiles, leaning her cheek up for the kiss he drops on her. She watches him hurry towards the exit, smile slowly fading as she looks down into her glass of wine. She pulls her own phone out and sends off a text, pleasantly surprised when she gets one back barely a minute later, lips curling up.

\--

Slade pulls his mask off, dumps it in his bag and undoes his sword straps from across his chest, the kevlar, dumps it all on the bed and then his clothes and eyepatch, and heads straight for the shower. He towels at his hair after he comes back out, dropping the towel around the back of his neck and stopping, looking around the room. 

He can hear a dog barking at the end of the block, hear the tv from a room a couple down making muffled explosions. 

He walks over and around the bed to take a seat on the edge, gripping the towel ends. He takes a slow breath, then another, doesn’t feel the bed dip but sees hands come into his field of vision, stretching out in front of them, arrow in one and nothing in the other, drags his eye over the black and white feather on the end. The arrow turns, comes straight at his eye and he shudders, squeezing them both shut. 

Oliver never touches him, hasn’t, not once. Slade would take anything, even actually feeling the arrow stabbing into his skull.

\-----

Felicity wakes in the morning, shuffles into the shower yawning, comes out and gets dressed yawning, shuffles into the kitchen _yawning_. She flicks her coffeemaker on and gives a wary glance around the apartment, grabs her bright pink umbrella out of the bin by the door and raises it like a bat, slowly, cautiously checking room to room. When she finds nothing (even outside, nothing except her plants), she relaxes, heading back into the kitchen to watch the dark brown elixir that is the Giver of Life pour into its clear- okay, maybe it needs a wash - pot. She reaches over for her tablet still sat on the kitchen table and taps it on, pausing and tapping the news tab when she catches the words scrolling across it.

_‘Dubbed ‘Count Vertigo’, the drug kingpin was arrested last night by the Starling City Police, the rest of his crew found dead. Sources say they were killed by gunfire and one run through by a sword. It seems the Ghost has struck again’_

Felicity stares a moment, then purses her lips, jerking back around when her coffee maker finishes sputtering. She grabs a mug down from the cupboard and pours while she thinks, grabbing the creamer out of the fridge.

It wasn’t just the scarily impressive list of kills she’d seen in Slade’s file that she couldn’t stop thinking about. _He’s a father too_ , she thinks, and he left his son back home after having been missing for five years. What debt could be so great that he’s all the way over here, trying to protect another family? The _Queen_ family? One of the richest families she knows of.

She stirs the creamer in and puts it back in the fridge, reaching for the sugar and stirring that in too. She grabs her mug and turns, taking a step towards the living room-

And she’ll blame this on her lack of coffee later, and the stress of having a foreign intelligence agent who murders people at night dressed in creepy black kevlar in her home (twice), but it finally hits her, and she drops her mug, jumping back as it shatters and spills tan liquid across her dark hardwood floors. All she can do is stare wide eyed as the piece falls and clicks into place.

“ _Oliver_ Queen…?” she asks faintly, watching the coffee soak into the finite cracks. But that just leaves the questions: Did Slade _sabotage_ the Queen family boat? Or did Oliver somehow survive long enough to meet him? And why does Slade feel he owes the family a debt?

She jerks out of her dazed thoughts and turns around to grab a towel, crouching down to start picking up the broken pieces, nudging her pink robe aside to try and keep it out of the coffee.

 _Maybe that’s what he’s trying to do_ , she realizes, looking at the broken pieces of bright green porcelain in the towel in her hand, _Pick up their pieces_. _Or maybe_ , she hesitates, brow furrowing, _His own?_


	5. Dawning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valkyrie says I can only post once a day. XDD

“Five hundred _hours_ of community service,” Thea bemoans, kicking her feet a little as she walks with Laurel into CNRI, passing a couple on their way out. “Not that I’m ungrateful,” she adds quickly, looking over, “I really appreciate what you did, Laurel.”

Laurel smiles, files held tucked up against her chest. “I’m always happy to help you, Thea.”

Thea smiles, ducking her head a little, then looks around at all the people moving about, some delivering files back and forth across the long room, various others on phones at their desks, people coming and going. It’s a hive of activity. The red brick walls and beige desks make the place feel cozy somehow though, the light coming in through the smoked, cubed glass against the far left wall.

“So...where do we start?” Thea asks, looking back.

“I have just the thing,” Laurel says, perking up, and Thea’s not sure if she should be afraid of the gleam in her eye or not.

\--

John Diggle leans back in the driver’s seat, parked outside, glancing towards CNRI one more time before scanning the area through the windshield. A guy walking a dog with his kid, holding hands as they stop to look before crossing the street, a couple walking down the opposite way, one woman holding a cup of coffee and the other texting with their fingers interlocked between them, an older man heading into a building with a briefcase.

John sighs, eyes slowly roving the streets before they land on the coffee shop. He looks at it a moment, then another, before his eyebrows slowly draw together in thought.

_It can’t be that simple, can it?_

He chews the inside of his cheek while he thinks it over, looking over each and every face of the customers sat outside. Teenagers, a lanky man, a couple kids following their bag laden mother. None of them match the vigilante’s - or _Ghost’s,_ he’s called now - build, but if _John_ were going to follow someone around and keep them out of trouble, he’d find a way to do it without being obvious. And there’s coffee shops littered _everywhere_ throughout the city, making them a good place to sit and observe your targets without being overt.

He flicks his eyes up to the roof, leaning forward to see out from under the roof of the car.

No snipers, no one sat on any of the surrounding buildings. That’s not a guarantee, but…

He drops his eyes back down to the coffee shop, flattening his lips. He can’t be sure that’s what the vigilante is doing, but he’s keeping track of Queen somehow, and John doesn’t have any other ideas to go on right now.

\--

Felicity scans over the work file pulled up on her screen, fingers tapping at the keyboard. Mr. Steele wanted this done by the end of the day.

She glances down at the clock in the corner.

She might cut it a little close, but she should get-

“Excuse me?” she hears from a deep, smooth voice with a knock. Felicity spins around in her chair, end of her pen caught between her teeth.

She pulls it out and clears her throat. “Yes?”

“Felicity Smoak? Head of the I.T. department?” the man asks, tall, dark, and with arms bigger than her head. Circumference. The _circumference_ of her head.

“That would be me,” she draws out slowly, lowering her pen as the man- private security guard? She’s never seen him around, but he’s wearing the usual black suit and tie. “What can I do for you?”

The man’s eyes shift to the door then back again, and he takes a few steps forward, stopping a foot in front of the back of her monitor. “I have a matter of security I need some help with. I was hoping you could help.”

“What kind of ‘matter of security’?” she asks, brows drawing together.

“I’m Thea Queen’s personal bodyguard,” the man explains, offering his hand out, “John Diggle.”

Felicity stands, shaking it, and trying not to focus too much on the fact that he could crush her (comparatively) tiny hand in his. “Felicity Smoak,” she returns automatically, expression scrunching up, “Which...you already know.” He releases her hand and she draws it back. “Anyway. What kind of security issue are you having trouble with that you thought coming to me for help would- er, help?”

His lips twitch faintly and then his expression sobers. “The vigilante,” he says, and her back straightens a little, “This ‘Ghost’ character. He’s been following my charge and got the drop on me in my own car the other night. I’d like your help in maybe tracking him down.”

“Oh. Okaaay,” she draws out, thoughts a stutter before they kick into overdrive like a sticky processor. “What is it you think _I_ can do?” she asks, fingers curling around the pen in her hand, low and out of sight.

“I was wondering if you could access and help me comb through some local security footage?” Mr. Diggle asks.

Felicity pauses, leaning a little closer over her desk as she lowers her voice, “Isn’t that illegal?”

“So is killing people with swords and stalking a nineteen year old girl,” Mr. Diggle replies, and Felicity leans back again. He sighs quietly, looking down as he shakes his head a little, then looks back up. “I know what it is, but I don’t want to go to the police with this, not yet. I just want to make sure my charge is safe. She’s been through enough already, losing a brother, and her father.” He can’t help his tone growing softer, quieter, and he clears his throat quietly, forcing his own memories aside. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to get involved in anything illegal, or can’t. And I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention this to anyone else,” he adds.

Felicity studies him for a long moment, thinking it over.

He’s not a bad man, at least that’s not the vibe she’s getting from him. Driven and motivated, sure, but it sounds like his heart’s in the right place. He reminds her of a sentry, if anything, standing out tall and firm like a pillar in the middle of her pristine, stark white office. He makes it seem even smaller with how big he is.

Still...Wilson’s probably not going to like this. On the other hand, maybe getting Mr. Diggle to help will lessen the amount of killing Wilson keeps doing. And maaaybe, since Wilson has apparently already met with him (in some form or another), getting them to meet up and talk will...help? God, but what if Wilson _kills him,_ or _her_? He didn’t, or hasn’t, yet, but-

She holds in a faint shudder, trying not to think of the news headline from this morning. She helped him do that, kill those people. They were bad men, but Mr. Diggle doesn’t seem like a _bad guy_ , he’s just trying to do his job, and she doesn’t want to play party to another execution. Still…

She worries her lower lip anxiously. “Are you sure about this?” she asks after a minute, and Mr. Diggle tilts his head a little. “In finding this guy, I mean,” she clarifies, “What are you going to do when you find him? He’s killed people. _With swords_.”

“Just have a little chat,” Mr. Diggle replies, and her brows draw together. 

_Yeah, I doubt that_ , she thinks.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she finally decides, uncertain, and Mr. Diggle’s expression and shoulders loosen a bit. “But it’s your funeral.” His eyebrows go up and she jumps slightly. “I mean, it’s-”

“On me,” he finishes for her, and her shoulders slump. “I know what I’m doing, Ms. Smoak,” he reassures her with a smile. It’s not exactly helping.

She sighs. “Alright. But this is just between us,” she adds quickly, pointing the chewed end of her pen up, “And I want you to have me on speaker when you confront him in case...I need to call emergency services.”

Mr. Diggle pauses at that, looking at her for a moment, then slowly nods. “Thank you, Ms. Smoak,” he says, and she nods once.

“Please, call me Felicity,” she says when he starts leaving. 

He stops and turns back to her with another smile. “Call me Diggle.”

She watches him exit her small office before sitting back down in her chair. “Oooh he’s so not going to like this,” she mumbles to herself, sticking the end of the pen back between her teeth before she settles her fingerpads on the keyboard and starts getting to work.

\-----

Diggle’s phone pings five hours later, just as his shift ends, and he pulls it out of his pocket where he’s standing by the car as he double checks Thea Queen entering her house. He looks down at the screen as soon as the front door shuts and pauses, staring. 

She sent it to his phone, actually _sent it to his phone_ , somehow.

‘ _Slade Wilson. 39. Intelligence agent_.’

Accompanied with five pictures, four of Wilson in sunglasses watching from alleyways and coffee shops, and one of what looks like an I.D. photo, dark brown eyes staring straight ahead out of a rough face with short black hair.

Another message pops up with: _Marbo Motel Room 6_ and a set of coordinates, and Diggle shelves the concern that Felicity Smoak somehow got into his _phone_ for later, turns and gets into the car, starting it and heading down the mansion drive.

With a little searching on his phone, he finds the motel in thirty minutes, just after the sun sinks and plunges the city into night and sparkling lights. He parks across the street and looks the motel over. It’s a long building with a neon red sign, a series of rooms, and number 6 on the end corner of the first row. It’s a good spot to room with multiple exits.

He scans the area before getting out, heading up to the crosswalk to cross the street, and then making his way back down to the motel.

He slows as he nears the corner of the building but keeps his pace sedate, casual, ready to grab his gun if need be. He stops in front of the door, lamp up to the right making the dingy number ‘6’ shine a little through the grime and rust where it’s bolted to the dark wood of the door. He reaches up-

The door handle turns and he quickly redirects his hand beneath his jacket to his gun, tensing as the door opens a foot. Wilson stands on the other side of it, shorter than he is by a few inches, but almost as broad from what Diggle can see, noting the eyepatch and the scars, a few peeking up out of the black tank top and a bullet wound scar in his outer bicep.

“John Diggle,” Wilson says, a little more weary than the other night, which could be explained by the dark circle under his eye, but Diggle’s expecting the anger and aggravation he hears too.

“We need to talk,” Diggle says, keeping his hand on his gun, because Wilson’s hand is still behind the door, and he’s under no illusions what that means.

Wilson’s eye darkens and he glances past Diggle, then takes a few measured steps back. Diggle slowly steps inside, not taking his hand out from under his suit jacket, and turns to sidestep in, not putting his back to Wilson. Wilson slowly closes the door while Diggle notes the gun in his hand against it, like he thought, then takes a quick look around. The bed’s unmade and there’s a duffel on the end, a pile of black in the open maw of it, but other than that, there’s not much else to see. Aside from the bed, the room’s not lived in.

Diggle’s eyes jump back as Wilson shifts to turn towards him, gun held loose at his side. They stare at one another for a moment, a minute.

“What is your business with Thea Queen?” Diggle demands.

“None of yours,” Wilson shoots back, and there, he can hear the accent from the other night.

“Seeing as I’m her bodyguard, pretty sure that _makes_ it my business,” Diggle returns firmly.

Wilson’s eye narrows a little. “I owe a debt. How’d you find me,” he redirects.

 _Debt?_ Diggle wonders, frowning. “Had someone comb through security footage,” he answers, trying to be as vague as possible. He doesn’t need this psycho going after anyone else. “You stay away from Thea Queen. I don’t care what you think you owe them, killing people isn’t going to keep the Queen Family safe.”

“It isn’t?” Wilson returns roughly, and Diggle’s jaw ticks. “You’re trained. You know better.”

Diggle straightens a little at that. “Yeah, I do know better, that war doesn’t belong in city streets.”

“Look around,” Wilson growls, “War’s already here.”

“And you seem to be making it worse, _Ghost_ ,” Diggle shoots back, “Or are they calling you that because you’re _not_ making a name for yourself?”

Wilson snorts derisively. “I’m not a vigilante,” he growls back, “It’s just enough to take the attention off. Get out.”

“You don’t think I won’t report you?” Diggle returns, edging a step closer to the door.

“No, I don’t, because you’re good enough to realize I won’t be so hospitable when I’m cornered,” Wilson counters, “And if you know anything about me, you’d know I’m not some grunt looking to fight the system because of a petty cutback or illusions of grandeur. Send the police after me, and they’re likely to end up biting off more than they can chew, and that’ll be on your head. Or did you come here without any proper intelligence, like you’re still green?” Wilson jabs.

Diggle’s jaw ticks again and he straightens to his full height, but Wilson doesn’t move, doesn’t step back, doesn’t look intimidated in the least, and that just makes Diggle’s fingers curl tighter around the end of his gun.

“Go on,” Wilson goads low, brows lowering. His lips pull up into a sharp smirk that doesn’t meet his eye.

Diggle holds his stare for a minute before slowly reaching for the door handle with his free hand, twisting it open. “This isn’t over,” he says, edging his way out.

“It never is,” Wilson mutters low. 

The door slams shut as soon as he’s past the threshold and Diggle stares at the number 6 for a long moment before turning and heading back up the street for the crosswalk. That didn’t go exactly according to plan, but at least now he knows who’s behind the damn mask, and-

“ _I owe a debt_.”

He’s got a piece to the puzzle surrounding the Queen family and this _Mr. Wilson_.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps ‘speakerphone’, raising it to his ear. “You get all that?”

\--

Slade glares at the door for another moment before whirling around and digging his gear out of his duffel, pulling it on before grabbing up his bag.

He needs to find a new place to stay, and then...

The bodyguard said he had someone help him comb security footage, but the paranoia that’s kept him alive the past decade, honed to a fine point on the island, has Slade considering other angles, and the only other person he’s been in contact with who knows who he is is one Felicity Smoak.

\--

Felicity flicks her apartment lights on as she locks her door and turns around, jumping with an, “ _Oh god!_ ” as her hand flies to her chest, “You _really_ need to work on your entrances.” Wilson, or _the Ghost_ , stands in her living room, a black mass in her room’s sea of eclectic color.

“I told you before that you would be fine if you didn’t breathe a word of who I was to anyone,” he says, voice menacingly low, and she swallows, heart beating faster in her chest. She heard everything he and Diggle talked about, so she was kind of expecting this, but-

“I thought...if you two worked together, it might help lower the body count,” she says as firmly as she can muster, staying right where she is next to the door as she grips her keys tight, edges digging hard into her palm. “You _killed_ those drug guys,” she says, ”I _helped_ _you kill_ those drug guys. I thought if you were at least working with Thea’s bodyguard, you two might be able to come up with ways to keep her safe, pay off your debt, without getting even more people killed.”

“ _No_ ,” he growls back, eye focused on her in the mask, and she jumps, “You put my whole operation at risk because you can’t stomach doing what needed to be done.”

“We are _not partners!_ ” she lets out, “I mean, technically we _were_ , but I did not sign up for this whole- _crusade_ of yours! I just wanted to help Thea and I wanted people to stop dying. But it just killed even _more_ people!” He starts stalking towards her, pulling one of the swords from his back as she backs up, and he reaches out- 

“ _Oliver Queen!_ ” she says quickly, eyes squeezing shut and sucking in a breath at the hand that pauses around her throat. She swallows hard, feels the rough texture of the stiff glove against her skin. She cracks her eyes open to look up at him, sees his gaze intent and- something else, something else she can’t name, not yet, but it’s there. “You’re doing this because of him somehow, aren’t you?” She meant to say it, but it lilts up into a question on the end regardless. “Either you sabotaged the Queen’s boat or…” she swallows, voice lowering a little, “Or you knew him from wherever you were stranded. The boat went down somewhere in the North China Sea. You were brought in by a Chinese fishing boat.”

He glares down at her, but from what little she can see, he looks- conflicted, too, almost, or like he’s remembering something. It’s hard to tell with so little to go on.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t tighten his grip around her throat or stab her with the sword still held at his side, so that’s...something.

“Wilson,” she says, tries- “Slade.” His eye focuses back on her and she swallows. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t know if you’re somehow responsible for Robert and Oliver Queen dying or if- if you helped them before they did, but- But what I _do_ know is it left their family a shattered wreck, even _I_ know that and I’ve only ever said ‘hi’ to the Queens at work. And my boss, Walter Steele, he’s- he’s a good man, he married into the family, but I still had to watch him comfort Moira and Thea, see it every year on the anniversary of the Queen’s boat going down.” She takes a breath, and another, can’t stop trembling. But she makes her voice strong, because it’s all she has right now. “What I know is there’s been enough _loss_.”

He stares down at her for a long minute, eye hard while her heart beats 100 miles per minute, and then, miraculously, the grip on her throat slowly loosens and lets go, and he takes a step back, then another, then another, swinging his sword up and sheathing it on his back. She reaches up and rubs at her throat, swallowing as she stares up with wide eyes.

He stares at her some more and she struggles not to say anything else, little things bubbling up that she could say, that she could ask, but doing so might just get a hand at her throat all over again.

“You remind me a little of him,” Wilson says, and she straightens up, choosing to latch onto that instead of everything else, “Sentimental to the last.”

“So he made it,” she says quieter, and Wilson’s shoulders stiffen, “Oliver was alive after the boat went down.” He doesn’t say anything to that and she steels herself. “His family has a right to know-”

“ _No_ ,” he cuts her off with a growl and she snaps her mouth shut, brows drawing together.

“Wouldn’t _you_ want to know? If it was your son?” she demands, then immediately regrets it when he glares at her again. But he doesn’t do more than that, so she takes another breath. “If it was your son, and he was missing, presumed dead for _five years_ \- If your positions were reversed, wouldn’t you want to know?”

“The Queens will never know,” he says, voice going low and dangerous again with a look in his eye that sends a shiver of fear down her spine, “And if you try to tell them, it will be the last thing you ever do.”

“ _Why?_ ” she manages to get out, _frustrated_ and _scared_ and _confused_ and- too many things to word. “What happened that was _so bad_ that you don’t think they should know?”

He glares at her another moment before whirling around and stalking to the balcony doors, ripping one open. He’s gone before she can ask or say anything else, not that she’s going to try to follow him anyway.

\-----

“Are preparations complete?” he asks, studying the flickering fire of one of the torches lining the walls.

“Yes, father,” Nyssa replies, kneeled at the center of the room between two others.

Ra’s turns, the ends of his dark green robe whispering across the dark orange, stone floor. “Good. Al Sah-him,” he addresses. A dirty blonde head lifts, eyes finding his. “Are you prepared to face this last trial?”

“I am,” Oliver replies, voice clear as a bell.

“Very well,” Ra’s says, sweeping an arm forward, other hand resting on the pommel of the sword at his hip, “Go. Go to Starling City, and return to us with victory, or not at all.”

Al Sah-him bows his head low, and then the three of them stand, turning to go.


	6. Forget the poems of saints and ghosts, I'm the one I fear the most

“So...that happened,” Felicity says, staring down into her coffee cup. She tenses and her eyes dart up when Diggle leans a little closer and he immediately leans back, one hand wrapped around his own cup.

“So you knew who he was before I came to you,” he says, not loud or angry, but a little accusing, probably for...kind of...putting him in danger.

“A little, yeah,” she admits, sighing as she looks back down at her coffee. She’d called him and told him everything an hour after Wilson left her apartment, made plans to ‘meet him for coffee in the morning’ to discuss their mutual...secret? Problem? She looks back up. “He saved me from a mugging in an alley up near the Glades,” she says, keeping her voice low even though they’re sitting in the park, sat across from each other in the empty chess area. It’s a little too early for the elderly to gather just yet, which makes it a good meeting place if they don’t want to be surrounded by listening ears. She could’ve invited him over, but she’s tired of guys in her apartment, and to be honest, she didn’t exactly feel safe there...after. More unsafe, at any rate. “Came to me looking for help with keeping Thea Queen out of prison.”

“And for him that was killing all those drug dealers and getting the ‘Count’ to confess,” Diggle surmises.

“Yup,” she nods, dropping her eyes back to her coffee and taking a sip. It’s starting to get tepid. She takes a longer sip before setting it down and looking back up again. “So...what are we going to do?”

“We should turn him in,” Diggle says, and she straightens up a bit, “He’s trained, dangerous, and dropping bodies. You know that as well as I do. He’s killed over twenty people so far since he got here and he doesn’t seem to be stopping any time soon.” Her shoulders hunch in as she lowers her head a little and his expression softens. “It’s not that I don’t get it,” he continues, “You wanted to help, make a difference. I don’t think this is the way, though, not like this.”

“There’s more to it than what you know,” she says, and he sits up a little in his seat.

“Like?” he asks.

“It has to do with Oliver Queen,” she replies.

Diggle raises an eyebrow. “Thea’s brother?” Felicity nods. “But he died in that boat accident five years ago.”

“Yeeah, not so much apparently,” she replies, and his eyebrows jump up. She sighs, worrying her lower lip in lieu of a pen for a moment before spilling out, “Oliver survived the accident, somehow, and made it to wherever Wilson was stranded. He feels...I don’t know, _guilty_ , or something, and is trying to make up for it in his own twisted way by protecting Oliver’s family. By any means necessary, it seems,” she adds.

Diggle leans forward a little again, gaze intent, and she doesn’t shrink back this time. He’s still imposing, but _not_ in the same terrifying way Wilson is. “So that’s the ‘debt’ Wilson mentioned,” he says.

She nods. “But I don’t know much more than that,” she replies, “And I don’t think asking is going to get us anywhere. I only put it together because this has all been happening since he saved Thea Queen, more than once, and I discovered the island he was marooned on is near where the Queen’s boat went down. I threw it out at him last night in a desperate attempt to get him to listen and he confirmed it.”

Diggle looks to the side in thought, brows furrowed a bit. He’s quiet for a minute, then, “Asking actually _might_ work,” he says thoughtfully, “If we can do it at the right time.” He looks back. “He seem tired to you the last time you saw him?”

“I don’t know,” she replies honestly, “Was kind of hard to focus past the creepy black mask and hand on my throat.”

“He hurt you?” Diggle asks, quick and firm.

She shakes her head. “No. I mean I thought he was going to kill me for a second there, but...no.”

“Felicity, that’s what I’m talking about. We need to turn him in,” Diggle presses, leaning forward again, “He’s unstable.”

She doesn’t argue that, but… “You heard what he said though,” she says, and Diggle’s expression tightens as he sits back, “And I can’t say I disagree with it. We corner him, he’s going to do something none of us want. We can’t just call in a squad on him. And don’t you want to know more about what happened to Oliver?” she asks, “For Thea? Her family? My boss is Oliver’s stepfather, and I have to see him torn up about the anniversary of Robert and Oliver Queen’s deaths _every year_.” She takes a breath, shaking her head a little. “They don’t deserve that. They deserve the truth. Anyone would.”

“I don’t disagree,” Diggle says, “But we’re not going to get answers out of Wilson the fast way, and in the meantime, he’s still going to be running around the city murdering people. Are those answers worth people’s lives?” he asks. “I know they’re bad guys, and a lot of them have got what’s coming to them, but this isn’t a warzone Felicity, it’s Starling City.”

She hesitates, pressing her lips firmly together. “What do we do then?”

Diggle sighs. “If he’s tired enough, I might be able to contain him myself. At least take him off the board long enough to figure out what to do next.”

But Felicity’s already shaking her head. “You haven’t read his file,” she objects quickly.

“I did three tours in Afghanistan, Felicity,” Diggle says, eyebrows rising a little.

But she shakes her head again. “And like I said,” she replies slowly, “You haven’t. Read. His file.”

His brows draw together.

She digs her tablet out of her purse and turns it on to show him, stilling when she catches sight of a new news article, quickly tapping it open. Her eyes widen. “We have a problem,” she says quickly, turning it around to show Diggle as he leans closer. “Pretty sure Oliver Queen’s ex-girlfriend is also on his protection list.”

\-----

“Dad, I’m fine,” Laurel protests, rubbing at her temple.

“Well I’m not,” Lance lets out, throwing his arms out to encompass the wreck of her apartment, “You go after Martin Somers, _crime boss_ , Martin Somers, and then the local triad break into your apartment to try and kill you only to be stopped by that sword wielding maniac.”

Laurel sighs, looking up at him, and forces the tremor in her hands to _stop_. “I’m _okay_ ,” she reassures, stepping in close and gripping his arms, huffing a small breath when he pulls her closer by her forearms. “The most I got was a scratch.”

“And it could have been worse!” he replies, grip tightening around her arms, “Laurel, _please_ , drop this case before something else happens. I can’t risk losing you, I can’t. I won’t.”

“And _I_ won’t drop the case just because Somers is so afraid of me prosecuting him that he sent someone after me,” she fires back, “It means I’m doing the right thing, that I’m on the right track. Backing out now would only make what I’ve already gone through _worthless_.”

“ _Laurel_ ,” he sighs, world weary, and lets go as he squeezes his eyes shut, giving a shake of his head and then opening his eyes again to stare down at her, pleading, scared, stern. “Drop. The case.”

“I said _no_ ,” she replies, just as firm as she lets go too, “No.”

“ _Damn it, Laurel!_ ” he yells, “You’re gonna get yourself killed!”

“Then post officers at my door!” she yells back, “Have them follow me day and night. Do whatever you have to do because I’m not letting this go!”

Lance groans out a heavier sigh, throwing his hands up as he turns and heads for her broken door, Laurel watching him go and trying to ignore the niggling of guilt in her chest.

_Two Hours Earlier_

Slade looks at the information again, brows lowered.

Martin Somers, CEO of Starling Port, accused of taking bribes from the Chinese Triad to smuggle drugs through the docks and having Victor Nocenti killed for finding out. And Laurel Lance is the attorney going after him with Nocenti’s daughter.

 _Oliver’s Laurel_ , he thinks, scrolling down to study the company picture of her. Same golden blonde hair, brown eyes, and angular face as that damn photo the kid was always carrying around in his pocket, if not as worn and faded. It’s a little strange, seeing a vibrant picture of her.

He scrolls back up and then turns the screen off, pocketing it.

“Do you know anyone _not_ as stubborn as you?” he grumbles.

“ _I would if I were still alive_ ,” Oliver shoots back.

Slade cringes a little beneath his mask. 

Oliver hasn’t stopped hovering around him since the other night. He didn’t get any sleep last night. He needs to rest, soon, or he’s going to fuck up and get caught, or worse. He can’t afford to leave blood around any of the places he goes. He’s been lucky so far, if he could call it that, but he’s liable to fuck up as it is. The cops run his D.N.A., they might find the mirakuru, and A.S.I.S. will have solid evidence about what he’s using his time off for. He needs sleep.

“ _You can sleep when you die_ ,” Billy hisses in his ear, Slade’s head twitching to the side to try and get away from it.

“ _Shut the fuck up_ ,” he growls quietly. Billy laughs while Oliver watches the two of them, pacing, and Slade grinds his teeth.

A brief flash across the street catches his attention and he jerks to his feet, already leaping over the side of the roof and sprinting across the street for the fire escape on the side of Lance’s building. He looks up, judges the height, coils down, and _leaps_ , catching hold of the rail outside her fourth story apartment and throwing himself through the window with a loud crash of shattering glass. He hears a rifle fire and chases the tail end of the sound as he sprints into the living room, drawing his sword and slicing forward into the first man in black’s stomach, spinning around and throwing his sword into the chest of the second as he draws his gun, firing at the third, the body dropping with a bullet through the forehead.

He hears a gun cock and slowly looks back over his shoulder, finds a rifle pointed at him and Oliver’s angry ex-girlfriend bleeding from a cut in her lower lip. It’s surreal for a moment, to see her in person, living, breathing and real. Solid, instead of a faded picture on a worn piece of paper.

“You’re that vigilante,” she says a little shakily, and Slade tries very hard not to roll his eye. “You know anything about all this?” she demands.

“No,” he grunts roughly, trying to hide his accent since it’s bitten him in the ass once already.

“I should turn you in,” she presses, shifting her weight to center on her feet, “You’ve killed a lot of people. You just killed three more in front of an attorney.”

Slade stares at her and she stares back. After a moment, she slowly lowers her gun, not completely, but enough. He slowly walks over and bends down, yanking his sword out of the body with a quick jerk and giving it a sharp flick, blood streaking up the maroon wall. He raises it up and sheathes it on his back, slowly turning around. She’s grimacing at the streak, but her eyes are determined and firm when she looks back at him. Slade wonders briefly if Oliver got any of that from her.

He turns and heads for the window he used to get in, glancing over at her on his way. She doesn’t say anything, so he jumps out the window and leaves.

_Two Hours Later_

Laurel drags her eyes around the wreck, the broken coffee table, the shattered vase, the bullet hole in the wall where her head was just seconds before the gun went off, a whisper of sound out a silencer. They land on the drying pool of blood, the streak up the wall, and she presses her lips together, wincing a little at the sting from the cut.

 _No, she’s not dropping this_.

Her phone rings and she jerks out of her thoughts, picking her way around the crime scene investigators and damage to answer it. “Tommy? Yeah, I’m fine.”

\-----

“ _So, Laurel Lance is okay_ ,” Felicity reports. Diggle adjusts his phone as he glances around the club from the quietest spot he could find from the pounding bass and flashing lights, spotting Thea Queen in her vibrant teal dress off by the bar. He narrows his eyes a little but relaxes again when he doesn’t see her actually order anything.

“That’s good,” Diggle replies, “Any news on our mutual acquaintance?”

“ _Got some footage from a nearby security cam, but it’s just him running into an alley and disappearing_.”

“Any chance you can find out where he’s staying now?” he asks, “Since you apparently know enough to send me pictures and coordinates to a cellphone number I didn’t give you,” he adds in a mutter.

Felicity clears her throat and then, “ _You want to try **that** again?_ ” she asks incredulously.

“I don’t know, Felicity,” he sighs, “I still think we should try and contain him while he might be off his game.”

“ _‘Might’ being the keyword_ ,” Felicity replies, “ _You know he has a son, right?_ ”

Diggle pauses at that, brows drawing together. “Really?”

“ _It’s in his file. Which you still haven’t read. Which if you **did** read you would know caging him in is not the appropriate tactic for stopping his debt mission_.”

“And let me guess, you want to try talking to him?” Diggle asks.

“ _Better talking then possibly losing a hand or a head or worse_ ,” Felicity replies.

Diggle’s face scrunches up a little at that but he thinks about it for a minute. “Alright. We’ll try talking to him again, but if it goes south, we might have to resort to more physical means.”

“ _That’s your risk to take_ ,” she replies, “ _I’m 5’5 and too light to do anything but get tossed out a window_.”

Diggle’s lips twitch at that and he nods. “Alright. My risk,” he agrees.

“ _Alright. If you’re sure_ ,” she says uncertainly before the line disconnects.

\-----

Slade jerks his sword out of the last guard and turns in place to look at Somers cowering against a stack of crates. “Ready to confess?” Slade purrs.

“A-about what?” Somers asks, unhunching and lowering his hands a little. Slade swings his sword up as he walks closer and Somers jolts. “Okay! _Okay!_ I had Nocenti killed and was taking bribes from the Triads. I ordered the hit on Laurel Lance. Just- just don’t kill me! Plea-” he cuts off with a gasp that quickly turns into a gurgle. Slade pulls his sword out of Somer’s chest and reaches into his pocket to press the ‘stop’ button on the recording as he lets Somers drop, watching for a moment as he flicks the blood off his blade. There’s a sound of shifting behind him and he whips around, pulling his gun out and aiming-

“Stop. It’s just me,” John Diggle says, slowly stepping out of the warehouse shadows and into the warm light slightly swaying overhead, hands raised up to his shoulders.

“ _How did you find me?_ ” Slade demands, low and rough, and then the heel clicks register.

“I pinged your phone from when you guys met- Oh my god,” Felicity cuts herself off with, hand coming up to her mouth as she slowly sidesteps a pool of blood from a nearby body, pink heels stark and ugly against the yellow light washed cement. “We’re here to-” she swallows, pale, eyes darting back up behind her rectangular glasses, “-talk to you.”

He keeps his gun raised on Diggle but lowers his sword, just to keep the bodyguard on his toes.

“There’s got to be a better way for you to do this,” Felicity says, coming to a stop at Diggle’s back left, “I know you’re trying to protect Oliver’s friends and family, but there has to be a way to do it that doesn’t involve mass murder.”

Slade shifts his eye to Diggle. “And you came here to talk.”

“She wanted to,” Diggle returns casually, “I just wanted to turn you in.”

“Why didn’t you?” Slade asks.

“She wanted to give talking to you a go first,” Diggle answers.

“So, stop killing or be arrested,” Slade deduces.

“Pretty much,” Diggle replies. “Look, I know what it’s like being a soldier. You survive, and killing’s the safest, fastest way to do that. And if what I read is true, you’ve been on an island for the past five years, maybe alone, maybe not. Point is, living like that for five years, I get why you’re doing what you’re doing.”

Slade shifts a fraction closer. “Don’t presume either of you know _anything_ ,” he growls. Diggle raises his hands a little higher while Felicity swallows.

“Look, you brought this to _our_ city,” Felicity starts, a tremor in her voice but still firm, “To _Oliver’s_ city.” Slade narrows his eye a little, glad the mask is at least hiding his grimace. “I don’t think he’d want you running around, painting it in blood in his name, would he?”

Slade’s gaze drifts to Oliver walking behind the two of them, twirling an arrow in his hand. He takes another breath, focusing. “Doesn’t matter what the kid wants. He’s dead.”

“And his memory?” Diggle asks after a moment. Slade’s jaw clenches. “You’d keep covering that in all these bodies?” Slade tightens his grip on his sword. “I don’t know what your relationship with him was,” Diggle continues, “But clearly it was enough for you to travel all the way from your home country barely two weeks after getting back there to come on a crusade here. So I have to ask, is doing things this way really for him? Or is it an easier habit for you? I’ve had friends die, I know what that’s like,” Diggle says, “And I get feeling powerless over it, wanting to do something about it, but isn’t this just spilling more blood on his name instead of honoring it?”

Slade grinds his teeth and tightens his grip. “I’m not doing it to _honor_ him,” he bites out, and they both tense again, “And I will not stop killing. But. I will limit the targets, and they _will_ die.” It might make his job easier if he has fewer targets, maybe lessen the police heat on his trail and let him get in and out faster. Maybe then he’ll have enough time to get some sleep before his ghosts start in on him.

“Good- _Good!_ That’s a start,” Felicity says. 

Slade glares and she clams up. He sheathes his sword and holsters his gun, then reaches into his pocket, tossing her the small recording device as he passes them.

“What’s this?” he hears her call, before the _click_ of a button and Somer’s tinny, fading voice echoing in the space.


	7. Take the mirror from the wall so I can't see myself at all, don't wanna see another damn inch of my skull

“A recorded confession and twelve bodies and this is all we’ve got?” Quentin Lance asks incredulously, gesturing emphatically to the screen.

“Yup,” Kelton replies, tapping a few keys and throwing up three different security footages of the vigilante on the second screen. “Guy’s good. Knows where the cameras are.”

“That doesn’t exactly help us,” Lucas Hilton replies more calmly, standing on Kelton’s other side, “Get anything distinguishable?”

“Just that he’s wicked good with swords and knows how to avoid cameras about ninety-nine percent of the time,” Kelton replies, looking back and up over his shoulders at each of them in turn. “Although...there _was_ something.”

“What?” Lance asks-borderline demands.

“His movements,” Kelton answers, pointing at the screen as he replays one of Somer’s men getting cut down, “I thought it was just a malfunction with the camera on the last footage I was looking over, but it happens again here, and when I looked, it was the same on all the other footage. He moves strange.”

“Strange?” Lucas asks, brows drawing together.

“Yeah, watch,” Kelton says, replaying the footage and lining it up with three others from separate crime scenes. The vigilante cuts down a different guy in each one, a black form against the almost as dark alley walls. “He moves too fast,” Kelton explains when he glances back to find Detectives Hilton and Lance staring quizzically at the footage with furrowed brows, “It’s not by much, but he’s still faster than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

Lance’s eyes swivel over to level him with an unimpressed look. “Really? That’s it? The guy’s running around dressed in an armory killing people and you think him moving _fast_ is strange?”

Kelton shrugs helplessly and Lance shakes his head.

“Just send the footage to our computers,” Lance says before stalking back to his desk.

Lucas and Kelton share a look and Lucas just shakes his head. “Sorry. It’s really bothering him, especially after what happened to Laurel.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Kelton replies, “She okay?”

\--

“I’m _fine_ ,” Laurel lets out, immediately feeling guilty and giving Thea an apologetic look. “Sorry. My dad, Tommy, _everyone_ keeps asking.”

“Well it was a hell of a thing to go through,” Thea replies, brows drawing together, “You get a good look at him?”

“He was wearing a lot of black and carrying a lot of weapons,” Laurel replies with raised brows, looking back down as she flips a file open, “Not much to see beyond that.”

Thea makes a considering sound and goes back to her own open file. “What do you think of him?” she asks casually, glancing over at Laurel, “ _‘The Ghost’_.”

Laurel sighs, sitting back in her chair and tilting her head back, staring thoughtfully up at the ceiling. “You mean if I think he’s crazy? Because I definitely think he could use some psychiatric help.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” Thea says, raising an eyebrow.

Laurel lowers her head back down and looks over at her, then down at the file. “I don’t know,” she starts, pausing in thought, “I guess I can see the- And I’m not saying I agree with this,” she adds, looking over at Thea, “But I guess I can see how doing what he does _can_ help. There’s been fewer muggings and murders - from people besides him. We’ve gotten less clients, which is a good thing. Not a huge drop, but even a sliver is noticeable. I don’t know. I guess just...I believe in the law, I protect and uphold the law as best I can, but fighting the guys we do with it? We’re doing it with one hand tied behind our backs. The bad guys aren’t afraid to kill someone, to incriminate someone, bribe them, all of the above and then some. To uphold and protect the law means we have to operate within the confines of it, even when the bad guys don’t.”

“So it’d be easier if you didn’t have to, is what you’re saying,” Thea says.

“Yes,” Laurel agrees, looking over again, “But that also leads to more chaos. Can you imagine if everyone in here, everyone out _there_ ,” she tilts her head towards the large window, “Was out there giving out their own brand of justice? It’d be anarchy.”

“But it’s not the city, it’s just one man,” Thea replies, “And he did give the police that confession from the case you were working on.”

“Yeah, for now,” Laurel returns, “And at the cost of Somer’s life.” Thea’s brows draw together as she looks down in thought. Laurel glances around and then leans closer, their foreheads nearly touching. “Can I tell you something?” she asks, voice lowered. Thea looks up in question. “I let him go, last night. I had my gun pointed at him, I could have stopped him, but I let him go.”

“Why?” Thea asks.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Laurel answers, “Maybe it’s because he’d just saved me from getting a bullet to the head. Maybe it’s because I had a moment of weakness because, like I said, I can see how what he’s doing _could_ help, in its own, twisted way.” She sits up and Thea watches her. “But it won’t happen again,” Laurel continues, “He’s a mass murderer. It _can’t_ happen again.”

Thea watches Laurel go back to her file, flipping through papers and scanning them, and bites the inside of her cheek as she thinks it over. 

\-----

“Well we got him to kill less, supposedly. That’s something,” Felicity says into her bluetooth earpiece while tapping away at her keyboard. She glances around quickly after to make sure she’s really alone in her office before continuing, “Now if we could just find out more about Oliver Queen’s time on the island.”

“ _Well, you can try finding out whatever you can doing...whatever it is you manage to do with computers_ ,” Diggle replies from the other end, “ _I’ve got a socialite heiress to worry about_.”

“Is it hard?” Felicity asks, fingers pausing on her keys, “Knowing her brother was alive after everyone thought he was dead and not telling her?”

Diggle’s quiet for a moment and then sighs out, “ _Yeah. If someone knew something about my brother, I’d want to know. Not knowing hurts worse_.”

Felicity turns away from her computer a little, eyes landing on her white desk top, the little plant she put in the corner in a pot painted bright pink. “You have a brother?” she asks.

“ _Had_ ,” Diggle corrects, voice going tight a little from the other end of the line, “ _He died a few years ago_.”

“I’m sorry,” Felicity replies quieter, “I didn’t know.”

“ _You didn’t look?_ ” Diggle asks, sounding more amused than accusing. Still, her fingers curl.

“No,” she returns, “No I haven’t looked into anyone like I have Wilson in…a while.”

There’s an inhale on the other end, then a long exhale. “ _Sorry_ ,” Diggle sighs.

“It’s okay,” she replies softer, “I know it’s...invasive.”

“ _That’s not necessarily a bad thing, in Wilson’s case_ ,” Diggle says.

She lets out her own sigh, turning her chair back towards her computer. She reaches for the keys again, multitasking. “I just keep thinking about the other night when he was in my apartment, and that he has a son back home. He’s so…” She makes a frustrated sound in the back of her throat. “I don’t know what to do about him without turning him in. I looked up his son. His name’s Joe,” she rambles, “His grades dipped for a few years while Slade was gone but he finished high school with straight A’s and then joined the same agency Wilson’s from, really threw himself into it.”

“ _A.S.I.S._ ,” Diggle supplies.

“Yup,” Felicity replies, “Like father like son. Well, hopefully not, but-”

“ _Yeah, I get you_ ,” Diggle cuts her off, not abrasive, rude, or blunt like everyone else she’s met. Somehow he manages to do it in a way that makes her feel like he really _does_ get what she’s trying to say, instead of just wanting her to stop talking. She hasn’t known him long and she’s already comfortable enough with him to not feel offended.

“Anyway. Oliver Queen,” Felicity redirects.

Diggle huffs a breath. “ _Hard to imagine a rich playboy knowing someone like **him** on an island in the North China Sea_ , _let alone leaving enough of an impression on a guy like Wilson to go through all this trouble just to look out for the Queen family._ ”

“Maybe we’re judging Wilson too hard?” she asks uncertainly, “Or...maybe whatever happened to them there was really, _really_ bad?”

“ _How sure are you that it wasn’t Robert Queen that survived?_ ” Diggle asks, “ _They could have both made it_.”

“Wilson didn’t mention Robert Queen at all,” Felicity replies, “And he froze when I mentioned Oliver. It has to be him.”

“ _Or Wilson wants you to think that_ ,” Diggle counters, but it sounds more like a suggestion than something he actually believes.

“I don’t know,” Felicity replies, “Either way, I’ll look into it. Both of them.”

“ _Alright_ ,” Diggle says, “ _Just be careful. If a guy like Wilson was involved with Queen, we don’t know who else might have been_.”

“Are you saying you think there were more people on that island than just them?” she asks, fingers pausing again.

“ _I’m saying we don’t know much of anything, and that’s why we’ve got to be careful, if we’re going to do this_ ,” Diggle replies.

She doesn’t say anything to that, instead asking, “Thea Queen up to anything tonight?”

“ _Plans for another party_ ,” Diggle says, sounding like he’s regretting taking the job already, “ _She’s been keeping herself in check, at least_.”

“That’s good,” Felicity replies, clearing her throat quietly, “Be careful.”

“ _Same to you_ ,” Diggle replies.

Felicity reaches up to tap the line closed after Diggle does, an uncomfortable weight still swirling in her chest. She moves her hands back to her keyboard and starts typing, taking a breath. It’s nice to be able to talk to someone about all this, at least. She’s not sure what she’d do if she had to deal with it alone.

She pulls up a picture of Robert and Oliver Queen and studies it, eyes shifting between the two. “What happened to you?” she asks quietly, lips tugging down. She never did like an unsolved mystery.

\-----

“We are on standby only,” Nyssa states after they dock, unboarding the boat with some of the League in tow, “This, like all of your other trials, you will face alone, Al Sah-him.”

Al Sah-him stops and bows, then turns sharply and heads for the city lights, pulling the black hood up over his head.

Nyssa watches him go and then looks back at the League, their dark forms even darker against the backdrop of the sea. “With me,” she orders, turning back forward and starting in the direction of the safehouse.

\-----

Slade sighs, staring down over the corner of the roof at the restaurant across the street, opposite the corner of the four way intersection. Moira Queen laughs, easy to see through the annoying amount of glass windows - the whole outer wall made up of them - a sound he can’t pick up over the cars, chatter and traffic. She must say something hilarious because the group in expensive dresses and suits sitting around her at the round table all start laughing too. 

He can still hear her voice in his head from when he called her and is almost glad he can’t hear her now. He told Smoak and Diggle that the Queen family would never know about Oliver, and they still don’t, not really. All Moira knows is that he had lived to reach the island, and hasn’t seemed to share that information with the sister, or anyone else, that he knows of. He’s not quite sure what to make of that, but then again, he’s not sure Adeline would tell him if something happened to Joe either, good or bad.

He rolls his neck and lets out a breath when a bone in his back shifts and pops, body going loose for half a second. He’s been at this for the past hour and a half and they’re _still_ eating. He got a little more sleep last night at least, since he narrowed his targets down, so he doesn’t have to worry about falling asleep from boredom. Both Queens aren’t usually out at the same time, but seeing as _John Diggle_ is still watching Oliver’s sister and is in the loop enough to be on his toes, that leaves Slade with Moira.

He sighs again, looking over at the giant billboard a few buildings down from the one he’s camped out on. Moira’s giant face and not-quite Oliver’s eyes smiles back at him with the words, ‘ _Vote to make this city safe again_ ’ and he rolls his eye. He tenses when something vibrates against his thigh and digs his phone out, checking the caller I.D.

‘ _Unknown_ ’

He hits answer and raises it to his ear, keeping silent.

“... _Ooookay, that’s kind of a creepy way to non-greet someone_ ,” Smoak’s voice filters through after a drawn out moment.

“I’m hanging up,” he says, pausing against his better instincts when he hears a, “ _Wait wait wait!_ ”

“ _I found something weird_ ,” Smoak says, “ _So I was looking into Robert and Oliver Queen, which lead to me looking into Moira Queen, which lead me into looking into Queen Consolidated, and there’s something weird in the financials_.”

Slade doesn’t say anything, raising a brow as he slowly scans the area and restaurant again.

“ _Fine_ ,” Smoak grumbles quieter when he doesn’t bite, and his lips twitch a fraction. She might end up being more trouble than she’s worth, but she’s not without her entertainment value. “ _Moira Queen authorized an investment of 2.6 million dollars that, it turns out, after a little more digging, wasn’t actually an investment. It was used to set up an offshore, limited liability company named Tempest. It wasn’t filed with the secretary of state, has no tax records, and no patent applications filed. It is, for all intents and purposes, unconnected to Queen Consolidated and for Moira Queen’s personal use only_.”

Slade’s brow furrows beneath his mask as he frowns down over the roof at the restaurant and the woman in question. “And?”

“ _ **And**_ ,” Smoak emphasises, “ _Tempest bought a warehouse in Starling City in 2009, almost on the anniversary of the day Robert and Oliver Queen went missing_ _two years prior_.”

He stills, processing that. “Are you saying she had something to do with the boat going down?”

“ _I don’t know_ ,” Smoak replies, “ _But it is a little suspicious, isn’t it? She secreted away 2.6 **million dollars** to set up a company that doesn’t have any trails tied to it except a warehouse, here, in the city. I’m just saying, it might be worth checking into_.”

He narrows his eye down at Moira, thinking it over. She’s laughing again with the circle of people, investors and supporters, probably. It’s been five years since her son went missing, but not even a month since he told her her son had survived the wreck, and here she is with a smile on her face, having told no one what he told her.

“Do you have an address?” he asks lowly.

Smoak rambles it off and he hangs up, still watching Queen. He drags his eye away to scan the area again, the rooftops, the cars parking at and passing by the restaurant. He freezes on the next sweep, catching movement. Something black shifts in the bottom right corner of the billboard with Queen’s face and he narrows his eye, holding position. It slowly stands and-

He runs, hears glass shatter and darts a look as he leaps between buildings to see Moira being pushed down under the table where an arrow is sticking out of it right in front of where she was sitting, one of the glass slabs that make up the wall facing the street shattering to the restaurant floor and sidewalk. Slade jerks his gaze back forward, sees the person in black whip around as they notice and fire at him as he draws his sword, barely slicing the arrow in time before another one is coming at him. He slices it too and leaps to the last building, watches the figure turn and drop from the billboard catwalk while firing again. Slade slices it and draws his gun, closing the distance between them-

The black bow comes up and hits his forearm, deflecting the deafening gunshot at the last second. Slade swings his sword down, letting out a grunt when it strikes another. He pauses, just a second, eye widening and darting up to find green ones staring back, just as wide as his own as he realizes he _can’t force the person back_.

 _Mirakuru_ , he thinks venomously, whirling around to strike again with more force and ignoring the kick of his heart in his chest. Now’s not the time to wonder why someone else has it or what they’re doing here dressed in- whatever they’re wearing. It’s all black, has loose straps, a hood, a nearly full face mask, a belt, a sword and bow and arrows like some kind of medieval assassin. All he can see are the eyes, green in a way that doesn’t look quite human, like the mirakuru.

He barely dodges a sword to the face and kicks his boot out towards the guy’s knee, grunts when a foot meets his stomach and stumbles back a step, dropping his gun and reaching back to draw his other sword and charge forward. The man in black stills for half a second, then twirls his sword and bow and strikes forward, metal clanging rapid and loud with each strike over the sound of the cars below and sirens in the distance as they pick up pace. Slade gets another boot to the stomach and gets his forearms under the guy’s calf before it can retreat, flipping him up- 

The guy lands on his feet like a cat and twists, Slade blocking the sword that comes at the side of his head and the bow that comes at his waist.

The sirens are getting closer, he notices distantly, but he doesn’t let up and the guy doesn’t either, both whirling black masses across the roof, back and forth, never quite pushing the other over the edge as the world blurs around them. It’s strange, surreal, _liberating_ to fight someone who matches him in both strength and skill. For the first time in five years, he can let _go_.

He manages to connect his boot with the guy’s stomach and kicks him back, hears the man’s boots skid across the gravely cement and they both still at the shouted, “ _YOU UP THERE!_ ” beams of light flashing up from nearby over the closest edge. The man in black with the green eyes bolts for the back of the roof and Slade follows, both of them dropping over the edge and landing in crouches in the alley. He looks back and the guy spares him a glance before disappearing around the next building’s corner and Slade runs-

“ _STOP RIGHT THERE!_ ” 

He stills, swords still in his hands. He slowly turns his head and looks back over his shoulder.

Detective Lance slowly inches his way closer up the alleyway, both hands on the gun pointed at the back of his head, or just his back, one or the other.

“Twitch, and I’ll shoot!” Lance lets out.

Slade snorts quietly and Lance’s brows lower further.

“Find that funny, _psycho?_ ” Lance demands.

“Said something like that to someone once,” Slade replies.

“Yeah, you kill him too?” Lance replies. Slade keeps silent. “Drop the swords,” Lance orders, jerking his gun an inch higher when Slade doesn’t move, “Now!” Slade narrows his eye a little and then runs, feels a bullet hit his back shoulder before he rounds the corner of the next building and puts on speed once he’s out of sight.

\--

Al Sah-him pulls the roof door open and heads down the stairs, one floor, two. He heads straight for room thirty and pushes the key into the lock, getting the door open and then shut behind him, locking it. He takes a few steps into the bare apartment and stills, taking a slow breath. He reaches up and pulls his hood back and his mask off, taking in a slow inhale of all the stale and moldy scents of the apartment.

Super strength. Full mask. Two swords. The same gear minus the color from-

“It’s not him,” he tells himself, tightening his grip on the mask, “It’s not Wintergreen.” 

_And it’s not Slade_.

He pushes the knife twist feeling in his gut aside and steps further into the room, heading for the laptop he set up on the table in the back corner. He takes a seat at the table and taps the screen on, pulling up the browser and typing in ‘ _Starling City Vigilante_ ’.

\--

“Mom, are you okay?!” Thea lets out as she pushes into the hospital room.

“I’m fine, Thea,” Moira replies, adjusting her blouse, “No harm done, just a scare.” She opens her arms and Thea quickly fills the space, arms wrapping around her just as Moira wraps her own around Thea.

“From the _vigilante_ ,” Detective Lance says, stepping inside with Detective Hilton on his tail, and Laurel on his.

“I thought he didn’t use arrows?” Laurel asks while Thea pulls back to look over at them, brow furrowed.

“Yeah, well, there was some other guy there,” Lance says, “Last thing we need is _two_ psychotic killers running around the city with medieval weapons.”

Laurel looks over at Thea and then back to Lance. “So the second one targeted Moira.”

“Doesn’t matter _who_ did _what_ ,” Lance replies, “We need to catch them both.” He looks over at Moira. “Know any reason someone might want to come after you?”

“ _None_ ,” Moira answers firmly, “Whoever attacked me tonight, I don’t know their reasoning, but I am sure you will catch them.”

Lance makes a face but nods, turning to give Laurel a kiss on the cheek before stalking out of the room.

“Do you think the Ghost saved you?” Thea asks distantly, staring out the window in thought.

“Honey, I honestly don’t know,” Moira replies, walking over and gently taking hold of Thea’s arms. Thea drags her eyes back, looking at her. Moira smiles. “Let’s go home?”

Thea nods, smiling a little back, but she’s distracted on the way out of the room, barely hearing Laurel’s, “ _I’m glad you’re alright, Mrs. Queen_ ,” and her mother’s, “ _Thank you, Laurel_.”

\-----

“ _What happened?_ ” Smoak asks urgently from the speaker, “ _I saw the footage. There was another guy? Or girl?_ ”

“Guy, by the build,” Slade answers distractedly, looking back over his shoulder in the mirror while he tries to dig the bullet out with a pair of tweezers, gritting his teeth at the pain spreading throughout his shoulder, back, and arm. More blood pushes out around the metal as he digs in a little deeper.

“ _And he targeted Moira Queen_ ,” Smoak says thoughtfully, “ _Think this has to do with Tempest?_ ”

“The only thing I know is that he’s as fast and skilled as I am,” he grits out, pushing just a little further- He feels the tweezers hit something and gets them around it, pulling the bullet out with a sigh.

“ _What was that gross squelchy sound?_ ” Smoak asks, sounding a little queasy, “ _Did you just...pull something out of your body? Did you get **shot?**_ ” she asks more urgently.

“It’s nothing,” he replies, dropping the bullet in his hand and turning around to wash both it and the tweezers off before slipping the bullet into his pocket to dispose of elsewhere.

“ _Getting shot isn’t nothing!_ ” she lets out, “ _You might be some scary, tough secret agent but you need to go to a hospital!_ ”

“Thought you wouldn’t care,” he tries to jab, smirking a little.

“ _Just because you lack the proper manners to converse with people like a normal person doesn’t mean I want you to get **shot**_ ,” she fires back. There’s a pause. “ _Okay, maybe I wanted you to get shot a little but that was **before** it actually happened_.”

He snorts quietly, reaching for a sanitary wipe and turning back around to look over his shoulder in the mirror, cleaning up the blood before reaching for a bandage and tearing it open, pressing it on. “I’m fine,” he says firmly, “Is Thea Queen alright?”

“ _Yeah, she’s fine_ ,” Smoak answers, “ _She’s at home with her mother right now and Diggle’s there, says she wasn’t attacked at all._ ”

That’s something at least.

“ _What are we going to do about this new archer guy?_ ” she asks.

He raises a brow down at his phone before grabbing it up off the sink counter and heading out, switching the light off. “‘We’?”

“ _Well Dig and I are already this far in with you, might as well go a little farther_ ,” Smoak replies.

“‘Dig’?” he asks instead of replying to that. He hears her clear her throat quietly. “Don’t get attached, Ms. Smoak,” he warns.

“ _To you? Never_ ,” she replies haughtily. He can’t help his lips twitching again. “ _But really, what are we going to do?_ ”

“ _You_ are going to do nothing,” he says, continuing when he hears her starting on a protest, “ _I_ am going to look into the warehouse.”

“ _But you were just shot! By the **police**_ ,” she returns, incredulous and outraged all at once.

“I’m fine,” he repeats firmer, pulling his gear and mask back on and heading over, slipping out the motel door. The pain from his shoulder is already starting to dull.

She huffs. “ _It’s your funeral. And you better not show up bleeding in my apartment expecting me to patch you up_.”

She hangs up and he does too, pocketing his phone with a low rumble in his chest, not quite a laugh, but sardonic all the same.

He trails the address coordinates to the warehouse set a few miles outside the city where the wild brush swells up against the building’s tan sides like a rising tide. He glances around as he climbs the red metal stairs that lead up to the dark grey door, looking down at the digital lock when he doesn’t see or hear anyone around. He studies the cyan lit screen for a moment, thinking of Moira Queen, and types in:

‘ _O L I V E R_ ’

The machine beeps and nothing happens. He tries:

‘ _T H E A_ ’

A beep, nothing.

‘ _R O B E R T_ ’

He steps back as the door pops open and then draws his sword before slowly, cautiously stepping inside, keeping his eye and ears open for anyone or anything as he closes the door behind him. Slade trails the halls, just a few. He checks a couple of the doors as he goes, but they lead to empty rooms and more empty rooms. He stops at another door a few minutes later and pushes it open, pausing when the light behind him stretches out into a dark, vast nothing. He slowly steps inside, reaching over to try for a light switch. The lights slowly flicker on and he freezes.

 _Queen’s Gambit_ , he reads distantly off the side, stomach rolling and chest tightening as his eyes roam over the yacht, broken into three main, moss covered pieces with several smaller pieces scattered around it, like a lopsided puzzle or a toy model a child broke, instead of a storm. _Why do you have this, Moira Queen?_ he wonders, eye narrowing, _And why didn’t you tell anyone you did?_

_“Either you sabotaged the Queen’s boat or…” Smoak swallows, voice lowering a little, “Or you knew him from wherever you were stranded.”_

He blinks out of the memory and his fingers curl into a fist, other hand gripping his sword hilt tight. “Seems I need to have a little chat with your mother, Oliver,” he says to no one-

Oliver stands down by the wreckage, looking it over before glaring up at him.

-no one at all.

\-----

Al Sah-him sits back from the laptop, pressing his hands to the tabletop before pushing himself up, chair quietly skidding back behind him.

 _I might need to deal with him first_ , he thinks, narrowing his eyes down at the poor camera footage capture of _the Ghost_ running through a dark alley, one sword and gun drawn and a familiar black mask covering his face. Half of it isn’t orange though, even if the style is the same.

 _It’s not him_ , he thinks, calm and firm, _They’re both dead, and soon this man will be too_. He forces down the whispering, niggling thought that he is allowing himself to be distracted by past emotions, from the trial. “All distractions must be taken care of,” he tells himself, voice low and quiet, and ignores the figure lazily pacing by the door.

“ _Are you sure about that, Oliver?_ ” Ivo taunts.

Al Sah-him reaches forward and closes the laptop with a quiet _click_.


	8. You have torn me apart piece by piece and now I’m begging you to stop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's unbeta'd. Sorry about the mistakes.

“It’s cruel, what your father is making him do,” she says.

“My father could never make Al Sah-him do anything he truly did not want to,” Nyssa replies, looking over at her, “You know that as well as I, Ta-er al-Sahfer.”

Ta-er al-Sahfer looks back, then out the window of the safehouse again, a small apartment near the Glades with bare floors and bare rooms, only a mattress on the floor, an old couch in the living room, and a small table and chair in the kitchen with barely working appliances. It’s enough for the meantime, which is all they should need.

“Just because he’s strong physically doesn’t mean he’s strong enough to do this,” she says, looking back at the dingy alley outside, “And I’m not sure he should be.”

“My father has plans for him,” Nyssa says, stepping closer.

“Do you know what they are?” Ta-er al-Sahfer asks, turning a little more towards her.

“I have an idea,” Nyssa replies, voice going a little tight, “But I’m not wholly sure yet.” She comes to a stop at Ta-er al-Sahfer’s side, reaching up to cup her cheek in a gloved hand, eyes softening when Ta-er al-Sahfer leans into it and closes her eyes for a moment. Even mostly shrouded in black robes, they do not hide her brilliance. “My father sent you here as a test as well,” Nyssa says quietly, “To see if you would return to your former family.”

Ta-er al-Sahfer opens her eyes and lifts her head, turning it to look out the window again and Nyssa lowers her hand, watching the way the car lights from outside slant down and cast her love’s blue eyes blinding white for a moment, her gold hair’s highlights catching the light. “It’s better if they think Sara Lance died,” Ta-er al-Sahfer replies, just as quiet, “They wouldn’t like what I’ve become. They wouldn’t understand, as a cop and a lawyer, that surviving means going outside the law, or against it. Let them keep the illusion that I died, the lives they’ve made without me.”

A hand slips into hers and Ta-er al-Sahfer looks over, lips curving up a little. Nyssa leans close to press theirs together and Ta-er al-Sahfer sighs softly into the kiss, tension easing a little out of her shoulders.

“You are the life I chose,” Ta-er al-Sahfer whispers between them, foreheads brushing. She looks at Nyssa and Nyssa gazes back, brown eyes soft. She feels privileged to see it. Nyssa is rarely soft with anyone.

Nyssa smiles back and Ta-er al-Sahfer tilts her head up to kiss her again in the quiet of an empty apartment, shut away from both worlds, old and present.

\-----

“You found _what_ in the warehouse last night?” Felicity asks, pausing inside her apartment. She comes out of her shock enough to turn and shut the door, locking it while flipping the lights on and heading to the kitchen table.

“ _Queen’s sunken boat_ ,” Wilson answers, sounding just a little testy on the other end of the line, but she’s quickly learned he doesn’t like repeating himself. It’s partially why she makes him do it, pushing, testing. He still terrifies her even if they _are_ kind of working together now. It’s all the more reason to find out where the boundaries are.

“What are you going to do?” she asks, glancing at the microwave clock. 7pm. Still early.

“ _Pay Moira Queen a visit_ ,” Wilson replies, and she skids to a stop on her way back to the front door to take off her heels.

“You’re not going to hurt her are you?” she asks quickly, gripping her phone in both hands, “I may not trust the woman but that doesn’t mean I want her _tortured_ -”

“ _I’m not going to torture her_ ,” Wilson cuts her off, and then the line disconnects and her anxiety spikes.

She pulls her phone away and ends her side of the call before speed dialing Dig, bringing her phone back up to her ear as she jogs back to her kitchen to grab her bag. “Hey, Dig? We got a problem. Maybe. _Probably_. Where’s Thea?” she asks on the way out the door, pulling her tablet out as she heads for the elevator, “And any sign of the archer? I can’t believe I’m asking that, security footage or not.” She huffs a frustrated sound as she tries to listen to his reply while turning her tablet on with one hand and holding her phone with the other, grumbling as the elevator doors slide closed behind her. “We really need to invest in some better communication devices.”

\-----

Slade leaps up and lands in a crouch as quiet as he can on the second story roof on the far side of the Queen mansion, holding still as he listens. There’s nothing, so he steps up next to the window and tries to pull it open, unsurprised when he finds it unlocked. He slips in, landing silent on the expensive red carpet and slowly prowling down the long hall, keeping his eye and ears open for any of the staff or Queen family.

Thea Queen should be out and Walter Steele should be working late at Queen Consolidated while Moira Queen ‘rests’ from her scare last night, even if she doesn’t want to. The upside of a protective second husband.

He stops at the corner and presses his back to the wood, peering around into the next hall. There’s nothing, so he rounds it, keeping his steps silent as he walks down and glances around. Paintings line all the walls, expensive looking ones at that. He doesn’t recognize any of them, but some of their frames look like real gold and they all exude the same wealth that the shined, polished, warm wood and intricate vases on pedestals do. He jerks to a stop when he catches a photo out of the corner of his eye and looks over at the cabinet set against the opposite wall, picture frames lining the top next to a vase of purple flowers. He finds himself moving without thinking, slowly drawn close as he scans over the pictures.

An older man and Oliver in one; must be Robert, from the eyes and body language. Another of all four of them, Robert, Oliver, Thea, and Moira, another of what must be family friends, including Laurel and Sara Lance. The last one closest to the flowers on the end is of Oliver and Thea, the both of them grinning wide at the camera. Slade catches his hand drifting up and stops it, fingers curling into a fist as he lowers it back down. He doesn’t know the Oliver in these photos, the carefree look in his eye and loose body language. Oliver was never quite like that on the island, not after the first couple weeks they trained together. Slade beat that carefree attitude out of him, for the most part, and it made him stronger. Oliver still smiled and laughed and joked, but sometimes it seemed like a veil the kid put on, a mask to cover up something else. Putting on his former self to hide the darkness of who he was becoming.

Slade makes himself pull away from the photos and refocus, continuing on down the hall, fingers curling into fists again.

Moira Queen knows something. He needs to find out what it is.

“ _Are you really not going to torture her?_ ” Oliver asks, “ _Or were you lying?_ ”

 _It shouldn’t come to that_ , Slade thinks, peering down the next hall before stepping out. He stills when he hears a door open ahead downstairs, followed by-

“ _Why were you so insistent we come back?_ ” Thea Queen asks.

“ _Just concerned about you and your mother’s wellbeing_ ,” John Diggle answers.

It’s coming from up around the next corner, mostly likely the front door on the floor below.

“ _My mother’s fine_ ,” Thea replies, “ _At least she says she is. **I’m** fine. I don’t know why that archer went after her but it’s got to either be a mistake or a misinformed maniac or something, and the police are already after him, right?_ ”

“ _All the same, it’s probably not the best time to be out past midnight_ ,” Diggle replies with a hint of something in his tone.

Steps start up around the corner ahead and Slade quickly darts his gaze around, stepping left and trying the nearest door. The handle twists open and he pushes inside, doing a quick sweep to make sure the dark room is empty as he turns and quickly, quietly closes the door behind him, then stills.

“ _If you say so_ ,” Thea’s incredulous voice comes louder from the other side, getting closer with two pairs of steps, one heavier than the other, “ _I just don’t think much can be done if someone tries to target us with an arrow from **far away**._ ” Her voice passes by the door, her steps receding until he hears another door open and shut further down the hall. There’s a _sigh_ , then the heavier, second pair of steps shift and retreat back the way they came.

Slade keeps still until they fade and music starts up from the direction Queen went, stepping back and turning around to take in his surroundings. He’s in a bedroom, the bed back a little off to the left against the far wall, a desk on the right closer to the middle of the room, windows in the right wall and a bathroom and closet set into the left. There’s a tall bookshelf left of the bed against the wall, another at the right next to the windows. All the details and knowledge accumulate and sink in all at once and his breath catches in his chest, fingers curling tight.

Oliver’s room.

Slade takes a breath, then slowly reaches up and pulls his mask up and off, taking a few steps further into the room. He stops by the desk and looks over, sees framed photos of Oliver and Robert, Laurel Lance, and Thea Queen either side of the computer monitor. He looks around the room again, taking it slower this time. The bookshelves have framed photos on them too, family outings and smiling faces, younger and younger until Oliver’s just a child and Thea is a toddler. The books behind them look new and seem to range from all over, but his eye catches on one gold embossed title in particular and he slowly crosses the room, reaching up to slide a gloved finger down the spine.

“ _What is it?” Oliver asks._

_“It’s a challenge code. They’re trying to verify our identity,” Slade explains, pulling his gaze away as he presses the mic button, “Skyhawk 801 Foxtrot, please repeat.”_

_‘ **Of all creatures that breathe and move upon the earth** ’, comes through the speakers._

_“Wait. Wait,” Oliver says, reaching a hand for his shoulder._

_“What?” Slade asks, eyes darting over sharply._

_“I know this. I know this,” Oliver says, expression slowly lighting up before he huffs a breathy laugh, “They- they picked the one book that I read in college.”_

_“What the hell are you talking about?” Slade demands, tension beating through him so hard he has to **try** not to break the mic in his hand._

_“It’s a quote, from_ -” _Oliver starts_.

“ _The Odyssey_ ,” Slade finishes quietly, staring at the book a moment longer before pulling his hand away, looking down at his mask. He turns slowly and looks one more time around the room, shame twisting sharp in his chest, and pulls his mask back on, swallowing that feeling down. He needs to know what Moira knows, if not for him, then for Oliver.

“ _Don’t use me as an excuse_ ,” Oliver hisses from the corner, Billy slowly pacing behind him while twirling his sword.

“I’m not,” Slade whispers, turning for the windows and pushing one open before slipping out, pushing it shut behind him with a faint _click_. He checks around the area, listening, hears a guard patrolling below and stays still until the footsteps eventually recede before dropping down into a quiet crouch to the grass below, then sprinting for the perimeter. He slows to a stop next to his car parked in the bushes half a mile away and gets in, blinded briefly by the overhead car light until he shuts the door and is plunged into dark again. He pulls his mask off and digs his phone out, squinting against the screen light as he presses dial on the last number that called, raising the phone to his ear. The line rings, and rings, and then-

“ _I know you’re probably mad_ -” Felicity starts.

“Ms. Smoak,” he cuts her off, dangerously quiet, curling his other hand into a fist on top of the center console instead of around the steering wheel. He’d just break it. “You interfered and called Diggle.”

“ _I know you said you weren’t going to torture her, but call me crazy for thinking you might have gotten around to it **anyway**_ ,” she replies.

He can’t help growling low in his throat and hears her swallow on the other end of the line. She sighs.

“ _Look_ ,” she starts, “ _I’m tired of being afraid of you. I’m not budging on this. There has to be a better way to get answers out of her than scaring her half to death in her own home_.”

“It’s effective,” he growls out, can feel the anger building like an inferno in his chest. Everything has felt amplified since the mirakuru, his physical strength, his senses, his emotions. He’s wondered before if the hallucinations feed off of it, if the mirakuru does.

“ _Oh, I know_ ,” Felicity replies, “ _I’ve been on the receiving end of your intimidation more than once, and I’m tired of it. We are not forcing information out of Moira Queen, Oliver’s **mother** , like that. We’ll find another way_.”

“You tell that to him!” Slade finally snaps, hears Felicity suck in a breath but can’t stop the words tumbling out of his mouth, doesn’t want them in the open but they spill out anyway, “You tell that to Oliver, rotting away in the ocean because-” He finally manages to stop his tongue, cutting himself off with a sharp snap of teeth. He breathes hard for a minute, the other end of the line quiet, then-

“ _Slade_ ,” Felicity says, soft and quiet, “ _What happened to Oliver on the island?_ ”

He grits his teeth, staring sightless out the window, useless... _rage_ pumping adrenaline through his veins, at Smoak, at himself. He jabs the ‘end’ button and throws the phone into the passenger seat, slamming his fist down into the center console and breaking it. He sucks in a harsh breath through gritted teeth, does it again, and again, then shoves the door open and stumbles out into the night. He drops his head back and glares up at the stars through the trees, caged up scream coming out as a loud, strangled sound from between his teeth, vibrating up through his ribcage, his chest and throat.

He pulls in a ragged breath, then another, and another until they slowly, gradually start coming more evenly. He drops his head and turns it to look in the direction of the mansion.

He might not’ve met the kid if Oliver hadn’t washed up there, but maybe Oliver would still be alive if he hadn’t shipwrecked at all, and Moira Queen knows something about that.

“ _Oliver’s **mother**_.”

His fingers curl and he pauses, indecision slithering up his spine. He catches movement out of the corner of his eye and darts a look, finds Oliver standing tall and still, staring straight at him defiantly.

Slade snaps his gaze away, back towards the mansion, and pulls his mask back on.

\--

Diggle makes another circuit around the first floor of the mansion, nodding to the few staff and other guards he passes before making his way back up the stairs to the second floor. He passes by Thea Queen’s room, can still hear the music pounding and knocks the back of his knuckles on the door.

“ _Still here!_ ” Thea shouts over the music through the wood, and Diggle’s lips twitch before he carries on his way. He looks over the paintings as he rounds the corner, stopping to look at the photos on the stand halfway down the hall.

 _Oliver Queen_ , he thinks, studying the pictures. Dirty blonde hair, clear blue eyes, looks a little more like his father than his mother, and nothing like his sister, but still, typical rich kid. _What did you do that’s got Wilson so committed?_ he wonders, frowning a little in thought before making himself move on. He stops at Moira Queen’s room, rapping his knuckles on one of the double doors.

“Ma’am?” he calls, listening for a response.

There’s silence, so he knocks again.

“Mrs. Queen?” he calls, listening again.

 _Silence_.

His gut churns and he pulls back to reach for the door.

 _She could just be asleep_ , he thinks, hopes, turning the handle. “Ma’am, I’m coming in,” he calls as he pushes the door open. He steps inside and looks around the large space, sees the dark blue covers down towards the end of the bed, disheveled with cream sheets, and quickly makes his way to the open bathroom door, the closet, over to the- _open windows_.

He reaches up and taps his earpiece as he jogs out of the room. “Anyone got eyes on Mrs. Queen?”

“ _Negative_ ,” he hears, “ _Negative,” “Negative_ ,” “ _Negative_.”

“I’m checking the second floor,” he says quickly, “Someone come up to watch Thea Queen.”

“ _Roger_.”

He immediately pulls his phone out and hits speed dial as he heads down the stairs and for the back door, pushing it open and heading straight for his car. The line rings once before, “ _Dig?_ ” Felicity asks.

“I think Wilson took Moira,” he says urgently, pulling the door open and getting in his car, “Can you find him?”

“ _On it_ ,” Felicity replies.

\--

“ _I thought you were going to protect my family, not kidnap and hold them hostage_ ,” Oliver accuses, slowly circling him like a shark, twirling an arrow between his dexterous fingers.

“We both know I don’t act as rationally where you’re involved,” Slade replies, keeping his voice low.

“ _If you had, I might still be alive_ ,” Oliver says, walking out of his periphery to behind him. Slade tenses, can’t help it, half expects to get an arrow to his eye again but Oliver just keeps moving, walking back into his field of vision.

“And I will forever blame myself,” Slade replies quieter, gaze snapping over when he hears a quiet groan, attention refocusing.

“ _Where-?_ ” Moira Queen starts, slowly lifting her blonde head and trying to blink her blue eyes open. They’re hazy at first, but quickly sharpen when she tries shifting, jerking against the zip ties around her wrists and ankles keeping her trapped to the chair. “Where am I?” she demands, looking over as he steps closer into the yellow-green light overhead, “ _You_. Why have you done this?” She looks garish in her deep blue, silk nightgown, strapped to an old wooden chair in the middle of a warehouse, surrounded by stone pillars and cement and crates of plastic wrapped merchandise. Their worlds contrast so sharply for a moment it’s jarring.

“I want to know more about the Queen’s Gambit,” he answers gruffly, trying to cover his accent. He steps closer and she presses back into the chair, back straight and head held high as she stares up at him. “I want to know why you’re keeping the wreckage a secret in a warehouse.”

Her jaw tightens a little and she looks away, then darts her eyes back up to his towering figure. “I wanted to keep the last thing I have of my husband and son safe,” she answers.

Slade slowly starts walking, circling her like Oliver had circled him. It makes his stomach twist a little but he forces it away. Now is not the time for guilt. “I doubt that,” he says low. Her eyes try to follow him but she doesn’t turn her head around enough to keep him in her sights. It’s not confidence, exactly, but like one predator observing another.

“Did _he_ put you up to this?” she demands, eyes tracking him as he circles back around in front.

Slade’s lips tug down a little beneath the mask as he considers the question, choosing not to say anything. People usually talk more in unnerving silence.

“I did it to keep what I have left of my family _safe_ ,” Moira states, strong and firm, “And no amount of _intimidation_ is going to sway me from still doing that.”

Slade keeps walking, circling her again, watches her fingers curl a little over the edges of the arm rests, her polished, manicured nails reflecting the light.

“What do you want?” she demands, eyes following him when he circles around front again, “I thought you were going after drug lords and muggers. Or are you a mercenary?”

“I am what I need to be,” he replies, and she pauses. He backtracks what he said, replays the sound, and presses his lips firmly together where she can’t see.

“I recognize your voice,” she states calmly, turning her head a little more this time when he circles out of her periphery. “You’re...you’re that man,” she says, brows drawing together as realization slowly sets in. The coldness seeps out of her gaze, shifting into confusion, urgency, “You called me about Oliver.”

“Did I?” he asks. He can try to turn this around, but-

“I would never forget the sound of the voice who told me my baby boy had survived,” she says firmly, leaning forward a little when he circles back around. He stops and she stares up at him, gaze intent. “You think I had something to do with the accident, think I did that to my own _family?_ ” she demands, volume picking up a little but she doesn’t rage at him in a way he’s used to. It’s controlled, poised, like a mongoose lying in wait for a snake. She’s a subtle creature. Oliver was never like that. “You’re _wrong_.”

He blinks out of his thoughts, focusing again. “I-” he cuts himself off when he hears a whisper of sound and whirls around, catching the arrow aimed for his back, eye darting up. The archer is crouched up in the shadows on a beam connected to the tops of the pillars, another arrow already notched.

“What in the world-” Moira starts, and Slade tosses the arrow aside as he pulls out his sword, running as the archer drops and slicing the arrow he fires in freefall. The archer lands on silent feet and runs at him, drawing his own sword and swinging it down as he slashes from the side with his bow. Their blades scrape before Slade jumps back to avoid the bow, reaching up to draw his other sword and charging forward again.

The sounds are loud, jarring in the otherwise silent warehouse, but it’s easier to focus with no city sounds here, no cars or chatter or distant trains. He can almost hear the water lapping against the island’s shore, hear a bird cry in the distance-

The archer gets a leg up and hooks it around his arm, taking them both down in a hard roll. Slade keeps going even as his sword snakes out of his grip in the tumble, clattering to the floor, stabbing his other sword up and forcing the archer to detach and roll away, both coming back up to their feet. Slade charges a fraction of a second first but the archer dives low, tackles him back with arms around his waist and slams him back into a pillar, back of his skull hitting the cement with an audible crack. Slade kicks out and the archer jumps back as he slices down, Slade spinning left to avoid the blade and then running forward as he reaches up, gets his hand on the archer’s masked face and pushes _back_ and _down_ , slamming the back of his skull down into the cement floor. The cement _cracks_ at the impact, harder than a normal person could handle, and he hears a quiet grunt beneath his hand, grips and tears the mask off-

 _Oliver_ glares up at him, teeth gritted, and Slade drops the mask, jumping back.

“ _Oliver?_ ” he gets out, sound almost strangled by his closing throat, heart beating fast. _No_ , that’s not right. It’s just in his head-

Oliver’s eyes widen a fraction before he’s rolling back, kicking up in the same motion and Slade dodges back further to avoid getting feet to his face, but doesn’t move, doesn’t run forward or swing his sword, just grips it tight while he squeezes his eye shut, shaking his head hard before opening it again and- it’s still Oliver.

“ _Are you real?_ ” he grits out.

The archer- maybe Oliver, maybe not - goes as still as the pillar behind him, fingers tightening on his black bow. He slowly reaches up and back, just as slowly drawing a black arrow out of the quiver behind him and notching it, audibly drawing the string back near his cheek. “You’re not,” Oliver says quiet, almost a whisper. The arrow lets loose and Slade jerks to the side at the last second, hears metal hit cement behind him. He reaches up and yanks his own mask up and off, sees Oliver’s eyes widen a fraction. They’re-

 _Green_. Why are they green? They look even more green in the yellow-green light, almost glowing even in the shadows stretching across half of Oliver’s face beneath his hood. The shadows arc across the black of his clothes, the curves and edges and folds, putting him half in shadow.

They stare at one another, both still.

“ _O-Oliver?_ ” Moira stutters, disbelief loud and crude in the quiet, “ _Is that you...?_ ” Oliver’s eyes dart over briefly and Slade takes the second to look at him, sees a scar curving up the side of his cheek, follows it down to the turtleneck covering most of his neck-

 _That scar_ , Slade thinks distantly, eyes jumping back up to meet Oliver’s stare. He keeps his fingers from curling tighter around his sword hilt, or dropping it like it’s burning his palm.

“ _Oliver?_ ” Moira asks urgently. He hears her struggle against the bindings again, but it’s a distant sound.

“Oliver Queen is dead,” Oliver states flatly, gaze going just as flat as his voice, and Slade’s heart beats hard, “I am Al Sah-him.” He draws another arrow whip fast and Slade _moves_ , dodges left, dodges the second arrow Oliver fires as he runs forward and they collide as Slade drops his sword with a loud _clang-clatter_. He shoves Oliver back into the pillar behind him and pins him to it. Oliver struggles and Slade grits his teeth at the strength in it, trying to keep Oliver’s arms pinned back with his hands and his legs pinned with his own, pressing them harder together.

“ _Oliver!_ ” he snaps out, Oliver still struggling, “ _Kid!_ ” Oliver stills, life slowly coming back into his eyes as they widen.

“You’re dead,” Oliver whispers, pulling his head back and pressing it back against the pillar, “You’re not him. You’re _dead._ ”

“I’m not-” Slade starts. A shot goes off and his head jerks around, grunting when a knee hits his gut and then a small explosion goes off, smoke filling the space where Oliver was. Slade whirls around in place, darting his eye around the room looking for him- but he’s gone.

“Mrs. Queen!” Diggle’s voice, “ _Wilson!_ ” he snaps.

Slade barely spares a glance for the gun pointed at him and slowly looks around the room one more time, eye landing on the mask and arrow on the floor. He slowly walks over, crouching down to pick up both before slowly standing.

“My boy…” Moira trails off disbelievingly, “My boy’s _alive_.”

“ _What?_ ” Diggle asks, glancing between them before slowly holstering his gun and reaching for the zip ties keeping Moira tied to the chair.

“My boy is…” Moira trails off again, eyes moving up, “You told me he was _dead_.”

Slade drags his eye over at that, turning his head to look at her a little better. “ _He was_.”

“Then what was that!?” she shouts, losing her well maintained composure.

Diggle’s brow furrows as he looks between them again, eyes settling on Slade. “You two _know_ each other?”

Slade doesn’t reply to that, looking down to study the mask and arrow instead. “A ‘ghost’,” he mutters quietly, looking around the warehouse one more time.

 _He’s not dead_ , he thinks distantly, wildly, fingers curling around the mask and arrow shaft almost hard enough to break, _**Oliver’s alive**_ **.**

\--

Al Sah-him slams the apartment door shut behind him and locks it, coming to a jerky stop in the center of the room. His eyes dart to the floor, the wall, the fridge, the blinds covering the window, not seeing any of it.

_He slowly draws his arrow back, aiming for Slade’s eye, the one not covered by an eyepatch._

_**It’s not him** , he thinks firmly, as calmly as he can, fingers tightening a fraction on the bow and arrow, **Slade is dead**._

_His throat tightens a little as he lets the arrow go, reaching back for another before he thinks the action through. Not-Slade avoids them and then he’s being shoved back, heart beating harder. That’s not- possible. Slade isn’t real, so this has to be in his head, it has to be layering over whoever he’s actually fighting even though the only time it did that was when Ra’s-_

_“ **Kid!** ”_

He squeezes his eyes shut, giving his head a hard shake. “ _No!_ ” he tells himself, fingers curling into clenched fists at his sides, “ _No_.” He opens his eyes, staring down at the floor, brows drawn low together. He needs-

He stalks over to the computer and tosses the chair aside, ignoring the crash of it hitting the wall. He makes himself take a deep breath before pulling the laptop lid up and open, trying to keep his touch on the keys light enough to not break it. He types in ‘ _Starling City Vigilante_ ’ and pulls up the pictures, the minimal video, eyes intent as he goes over it all _again_.


	9. You’re the cause, the antidote, the sinking ship that I could not let go. You led my way then disappeared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright these are probably going to be unebeta'd for a while from now on because Valkyrie's gonna be pretty be busy soon and I don't want to add to her stress. XD OTL Thank you for looking these over Valkyrie. <3

“ _I’m pretty sure the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result_ ,” Ivo observes as he paces behind him.

Al Sah-him ignores him, staring bleary eyed at the footage as he replays it again.

“ _And it’s been, what, forty-eight hours since you last slept?_ ” Ivo continues, voice coming to a stop directly behind him. Part of Al Sah-him still tenses even though he should be used to it by now. He manages not to flinch when Ivo whispers next to his ear, “ _It’s time to come play_.”

Al Sah-him ignores him, focusing on the screen again. The vigilante cuts down a man, turning sharply before sprinting down the alley, out of frame. He moves too fast, hits too hard, just enough for it to seem off. He’s enhanced. If he really is- 

Al Sah-him takes in a slow inhale, fingers curling a little against the tabletop.

If he really is...Slade, that would make sense. If _he_ was able to survive the Amazo, it’s not too surprising that Slade somehow managed to as well. But he had help, so how did Slade…?

He makes himself step back from the computer, closing the laptop lid and walking over to the corner, stopping to stare down at the space between the wall and desk. He reluctantly steps forward and turns, lowering himself down and pressing his back to the wall, pulling a knee up and resting a hand on his bow, the other on the hilt of his sword. He takes a slow breath and closes his eyes, evening out his breathing.

_Lian Yu_

_“It’s time to choose, Oliver!” Ivo calls over the wind, gun pointing at the back of Sara’s head. Oliver looks between him and the men around them, static in his head as his eyes drop to Sara kneeling in the dirt and leaves, over to Shado kneeling as well, separated by three feet. He meets both their eyes, light and dark. He can’t think, can’t process, can’t-_

_“Why are you doing this?!” he yells, fists tight at his sides as he glares back at Ivo, acutely aware of the men standing around them, the guns lying in wait against their fronts, at their sides, in their hands. “You have the mirakuru! Just take it and go!”_

_“Five!” Ivo shouts, and Oliver stares, hears the gun hammer pull back with a loud and clear **click** even with all the wind and trees rustling. He sees Sara squeeze her eyes shut, sees Shado calmly close hers and his heart twists, his stomach rolls, adrenaline pounding with the hard, fast beats of his heart. He feels light headed, the world blurring at the edges. He’s going to be sick. “Four!” Ivo continues, Oliver jerking his eyes up out of his hollow trance. “Three!”_

_**Slade isn’t here** , he thinks, a hollow bell in his head, **Slade isn’t here to help, to pull us out of this. He’s dead. He’s-**_

_“Two! One-”_

_“No!” Oliver sprints forward, heedless of the guns that come up to point at him as he throws himself in front of Ivo, at his feet, glaring up at him. “ **No**. Neither,” he says, loud and firm, “Shoot **me**.”_

_“Ollie!” Sara shouts, looking back at him with wide, frightened eyes. Almost the same look he saw on her face when she was pulled into the water during the wreck of the Queen’s Gambit._

_“Oliver, no!” Shado shouts._

_“Very well,” Ivo says, lips twisting up, cruel. Oliver keeps his eyes on Ivo’s, the cold steel in them as the gun lowers to his forehead, then lower. He closes his eyes just before the gun goes off, loud and deafening. The pain hits like a punch, spreads rapid throughout his lower chest as he jerks forward sharply, curls in on himself as he coughs up warmth and wraps his arms around his middle, falling sideways into the heady, damp smell of the earth._

_“ **Oliver!** ” Shado shouts again, the sounds of leaves rustling and shifting, a struggle, “Let-! Go of me-! **Oliver!** ”_

_“ **Oliver!** ” Sara, the sounds of more struggling, grunting._

_“Take them!” Ivo orders, and Oliver’s heartbeat picks up through the overwhelming pain, the way it feels like half of his lungs aren’t working, makes it worse even as his attention splits between all that and-_

_**Sara. Shado** , he thinks desperately, teeth gritted._

_Gunfire goes off and he hears men screaming as steps run past and around him, hears something collide with something else, tree leaves shudder and bones break as the wind dies down just a little. There’s more screaming, more gunfire, and then it all just- stops._

_“ **Slade?!** ” he hears Shado ask, incredulous, and tries to open his eyes as his body starts to tremble. He can’t make it stop._

_“Shado!”_

_**Slade?** he thinks. There’s hurried steps, something snapping, then- _

_“Oliver!” Large arms roll him over and lift his back and he can’t help the strangled shout that gets past his teeth, a hand pulling his arms away from his blood soaked middle, warm and sticky. “Shit,” Slade hisses. Oliver finally manages to crack his eyes open and finds-_

_“ **Slade?** ” he manages to get out, voice strained, “You’re-”_

_“Oliver!” Shado skids to a stop and drops to her knees next to him, quickly followed by Sara. He sees her dark eyes roam over him, quickly pushing his shirt up and taking in the damage. “He’s losing too much blood,” Shado says low and urgent, eyes shifting up to his then Slade’s, “I can’t do anything about this here.”_

_“I don’t feel an exit wound,” Slade reports, grim and tense as a hand skims Oliver’s back and side._

_Shado sits back on her heels with a rush of breath, looking over him again, then meeting his eyes. “Oliver,” she says softer, brows drawing up helplessly._

_Oliver’s heart sinks._

_“Sorry,” he replies, tries to smile and squeezes his eyes shut as he coughs again, pain wracking his chest as more blood spills out of his mouth. The arms around him tighten while he reaches up, gripping the side of Slade’s kevlar vest. “You’re alive,” he manages to get out, getting his eyes open again and looking up to find Slade’s dark ones, something terrible in them, but concerned, too. It’s stupid, and the timing is terrible, but it makes Oliver’s heart beat a little faster, in what might be a good way, this time._

_Slade’s eyes snap up at the same time Shado says, “The mirakuru. Is there any left?”_

_And Slade’s already lifting him, grip tightening as he pulls him close. “Go back to the fuselage,” Slade orders, Shado nodding sharply while Sara stares at Oliver with distraught eyes, gold hair drifting in the wind, and then they’re moving, Oliver trying to strangle the pained sounds as he’s jostled. Slade’s grip goes bruisingly tight, but it’s getting hard to feel it past the slowly seeping, numbing feeling spreading throughout his trembling body._

_**I’m dying** , Oliver thinks distantly, squeezing his eyes shut before relaxing a little, chest tightening. He coughs again. This isn’t what his father wanted, but... **At least it saved Shado and Sara,** he thinks. Hecan’t regret that, **won’t** , and hopes his father doesn’t hate him for it._

_Something metal grinds and he’s dragged out of his thoughts, pain spiking all over again as they go weightless for a moment and then **land** , the **jolt** reverberating throughout his whole body and chasing away the **numb** with blinding **pain** that makes him shout before the numb starts sinking back in. He makes another, weaker, sharp sound as Slade runs forward._

_“I know it hurts,” Slade says low, voice tight, and Oliver grips his kevlar tighter. Metal squeals and Oliver risks a look._

_“I thought Ivo took-” he rasps._

_“That Sara girl of yours is sneakier than you give her credit for,” Slade explains distractedly as he crouches down, yanking a bottom drawer clear out of the slot and setting it roughly down on the floor as he takes a seat, pulling out a- green filled syringe. Slade drops his back against a cabinet, reaching up to tear the syringe package open with his hand and teeth before pulling the syringe out, eyes darting up to Oliver’s. “This might kill you.”_

_“From the look on your face, I’m gonna die anyway,” Oliver quotes back Slade from earlier when their positions were reversed with as much of a wry twist to his lips as he can manage. The hand gripping his arm tightens with Slade’s expression and Oliver closes his eyes briefly, has to struggle to get them back open. “Slade, I’m sorry. I did something stupid,” he chokes out, throat closing as the backs of his eyes sting. He’s dying. If this doesn’t work, he’s going to die. **He’s going to** \- He squeezes his eyes shut. “I couldn’t let him kill them.” The arm around his back tightens again and Oliver grunts quietly. It doesn’t let up._

_“You’re always doing something stupid,” Slade says, voice strained, but softer. It’s strange to hear him sound that way. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised you did something stupid this time.” Oliver feels Slade shift but doesn’t open his eyes. “And brave,” Slade adds quieter, closer. Something brushes his forehead and it’s enough for Oliver to crack his eyes open, opening them a little further when he finds Slade’s eyes right there, right in front him, the brown nearly black in the shadow as their foreheads press together. Oliver’s heart gives a faint **kick** even as the numb spreads, thickens, tries to smother it. _

_“I didn’t tell you...” Oliver whispers, all he can manage. Slade’s eyes search his, intent, conflicted...even worried. Oliver relaxes a little._

**_It’s fine, like this, isn’t it?_ ** _he thinks._

_His eyes droop back closed under an impossible weight as the pain slowly leeches away, and he barely feels the needle slam into his bicep, a tingling sensation starting up before it quickly turns into **fire, acid** in his veins, chasing the numb heaviness away. His eyes fly open-_

Al Sah-him goes rigid with a gasp, body poised, tense. He darts his eyes around, sees the submarine for a second before it fades into an apartment- the apartment. The safehouse. He pulls in a ragged breath as the acid sensation fades and slumps back against the wall, gripping his bow and sword tighter, struggling not to crush them in his grasp.

 _A dream of a lifetime ago_ , he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut, _That’s all it was_.

He forces his eyes open and gets to his feet, checking out the window.

It’s daylight. He needs...

He crouches down and reaches forward, pulling the black suitcase out from under the desk and flicking the locks up, pushing it open. He reaches in for the civilian clothes, hat, and contacts.

\-----

Slade’s phone vibrates on the floor again, screen lighting up two feet away from his boot by the shattered lamp. He stares sightlessly ahead, doesn’t see the upturned mattresses, the shattered tv and digital clock, the broken stands and table, chair, the holes in the walls. He goes over last night again and _again_ , for the thousandth time, each time not making any more sense than the last.

_“You’re not him. You’re **dead**.”_

_“Oliver?”_

_Green eyes dart away, then back._

_A scar runs up his cheek, down the side of his neck-_

_Green eyes widen up at him-_

_“Are you real?”_

_“You’re not.”_

He drops his head into his gloved hands, gripping it.

Oliver’s alive. And an...assassin, going after his own mother? That’s twice now he’s gone after her. All that time they spent on the island, any time the kid talked about his family it was about getting _home_ to them. _Why is he_ \- _How_ is he-

A sharp knock at the door draws his attention and he raises his head as he reaches down, pulling his gun out. 

_Quiet_.

Another knock.

He forces himself to his feet, staggering just a little, and reaches for the door handle, slowly turning it as his heartbeat picks up. What if it’s-

Blonde appears in the crack in the door and his breath stills, then he sees glasses and it comes out in a rush. He keeps his gun lowered out of sight but doesn’t holster it. 

“You look terrible,” Smoak says through the three inch gap. Slade glares at her, but it’s half-hearted at best. “ _Really_ terrible if you can’t even glare at me properly for being here.” He goes to shut the door- “ _Ah, ah, ah!_ ” she lets out, “We need to talk about Oliver.” He stops with half an inch left, pulling it back open. She stares up at him, determined and intent, and he grimaces a little. He doesn’t like seeing Oliver in her now. It feels wrong.

He steps back and leaves the door open, dropping back down to the floor and putting his back to the wall. He sees her legs move in his periphery, black heels with pink bottoms stepping into the room and shifting, hears the door close with a _click_. She whistles.

“Wow, you really did a number on this place,” she comments.

“You came alone?” he mumbles, only barely interested in the answer.

“Diggle’s on speaker in my pocket in case you decide to…” She pauses, presumably to gesture at the whole of him, the room. “Do any of _this_ , at me.”

He stares straight ahead, pulling his knee up to rest his forearm on it. He hears her sigh, then her legs move, a pale blur in his periphery. She stops somewhere to the right of him, ahead.

“I’m sorry about Oliver,” she says softly, and his fingers curl while he grits his teeth. “We all thought he was dead. But now that he isn’t, maybe…” she trails off, giving another sigh, “I don’t know. I don’t want to give anyone false hope, but he _is_ alive, so that’s something.”

It is, even if it’s all wrong. 

The guilt tightens so hard in his chest he feels like he’s choking on it.

She shifts and toes her heels off, then kneels on the short carpet, which can’t be comfortable. “You so owe me for this,” she mutters, “This carpet probably hasn’t been properly cleaned in _decades_.”

He stays quiet, keeping his eyes on the mattress leaning against the far wall ahead.

“You want to tell me what happened?” she asks, still soft and quiet, disarming, almost. It’s strange to have someone talk to him so gently, like he isn’t made of jagged rocks and broken angles. It makes the ache in his chest worse.

“I killed him,” he forces out low, swallowing past his tightening throat. He darts his eye over to her, sees her own wide ones, mouth slightly open, and looks away again, the shame eating him up inside, along with everything else. There’s so much of it. He doesn’t feel like a person anymore, hasn’t in years, just...something in the shape of one with poison in his veins and shame and guilt in his lungs. “It was an accident.” The second time. “He stabbed me in the eye with an arrow, and when I jerked back-” He flinches a little, remembering, tries to strangle it by clenching his fist. He can still feel the cold water soaking into his pants, boots, and socks, the heat from the fire raging across the cargo in the corner, Sara and Shado shouting and Oliver yelling. “I hit him, with my sword. I thought-” He presses his lips hard together, eye narrowing with his grimace. He clenches his fist tight. “The ship exploded inward and we bled in the water. He was swept out to sea through the hole in the side.” He lost track of Shado and Sara then, too. What if-

He shakes his head a little, squeezing his eye shut before forcing it open, staring down at his lap.

“I cut him in a way that…” he trails off, bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood; it sharpens the smell of it in his memory. “I didn’t think he survived, especially being swept out to sea. I searched the shores when I could, but I didn’t find him.”

It’s quiet for a moment.

“So he did that to you?” Smoak asks quietly, “Your eye?”

Slade reaches up with his free hand, brushes his gloved fingers down the eyepatch. “A reminder of my failures,” he mutters.

It’s quiet again. He drops his hand to his lap and looks across the room again.

“What are you going to do?” she asks softly.

He shakes his head a little. “I don’t know. He thought I was dead.”

“But neither of you are,” she replies, and he glances over at that, can barely stand the empathy in her gaze, her focus, “How many people get the chance to meet someone again after thinking they were gone for good?”

“It’s not that simple,” he mutters.

“No, it’s not,” she agrees, “You’re a secret agent running around as a vigilante in another country after having been stranded on an island for five years. Oliver’s- well,” she pauses, eyes darting up in thought before dropping back down to him, “I’m not really sure. But he was stranded too, away from his friends and family and home, and then somehow he met you, and then ‘died’, and now he’s...whatever he is. An assassin?” Her face scrunches up. “We really need to find out what happened between you thinking he was dead and him turning up in Starling City, apparently trying to kill his _mother._ ” She shakes her head quickly, ponytail swaying back and forth. “I can’t believe this is my life right now: sitting on a disgusting, painful motel floor talking to a vigilante about a supposedly dead but not-really playboy billionaire turned scary assassin.”

His lips don’t twitch, but the pain in his chest lessens, just a fraction.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a pause, and she sits up straighter, eyes focused on him again.

“What for?” she asks.

“For almost pulling a sword on you,” he answers.

Her brows draw together while her lips quirk up, a mixed expression. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll forget that or will be able to forgive it any time soon, but I appreciate the apology. Even if it took you a while to give it.”

He thinks he hears a huff from her coat pocket and looks away, letting the quiet settle over them again.

“ _So what are we going to do now?_ ” Diggle asks from her pocket.

“Good question,” Smoak replies, “My bet is...try to catch Oliver Queen before he hurts his own family?” she asks.

“ _I don’t think that’ll be easy_ ,” Diggle replies, “ _Especially if he was giving you a run for your money, Wilson. He’s as trained as you are, somehow_.”

“Maybe more,” Wilson replies thoughtfully, narrowing his eye a little while he thinks, mentally going over the fight again. “I recognized some of the moves, some I didn’t, but their influence seemed almost...familiar. I can’t place it.” It’s frustrating, to maybe have a clue to one of the answers he needs to find Oliver, only to not be able to pull it out from the depths of his memory. “Some were from Yao Fei.” A couple were from _him_.

“Yao Fei?” Smoak asks, blinking. “Who’s that?” She’s already pulling her tablet out.

“Someone from the island,” Slade answers vaguely, “I was sent there to find and extract him.”

“A former Chinese Military General,” Felicity says after a minute, eyebrows rising as she scans over the information on her tablet, “Two daughters. Twins.”

“Shado,” he says, and her eyes dart up.

“She was on the island?” Smoak asks, leaning forward a little, intent.

“Yes,” Slade grits out reluctantly.

Smoak taps at a few things and then turns the tablet around for him to read. “She returned home a year ago.”

He snatches the tablet from her hand too fast and reads over the information, once, twice, again. “She’s alive,” he croaks out, fingers trembling. He forces them to stop, jerking the tablet back out towards Felicity, unsure if he can keep himself from breaking it. She takes it back.

“Yeah. I pulled up some of her financials. Seems she’s been spending a lot of time in a monastery,” she reads off, “And she-...Oh,” she says, eyebrows jumping up again. 

Slade’s eye snaps up. “What?” he demands.

Smoak looks up. “She’s coming here.”

\--

Slade stands in the terminal, Smoak and Diggle flanking him as they wait. There’s still people bustling about, even at almost midnight. It’s quieter, less packed, but there’s still plenty coming and going, enough to make him paranoid. He can’t help his eye scanning over everyone every so often through his sunglasses while trying to keep an eye on the gate from China to Starling.

“So Shado was with you and Oliver on the island, as well as her father,” Diggle says, incredulous, “A former Chinese General and his daughter.”

“It was a strange time,” Slade says distractedly, hands in his pockets, trying to look unremarkable. People start coming out of the gate ahead and his shoulders tense, attention focusing. He scans over each face, every single one, until he sees-

She’s got her hair up in a ponytail, dark bangs framing her face, a dark green coat on and a duffel bag hanging from her shoulder, dark jeans and boots and a dark top. It’s similar to what she wore on the island, but clean, and she doesn’t look like she’s ready to crawl out of her skin from the grime.

It takes his breath away for a minute, seeing her alive and well, and takes just as long for him to realize Felicity is waving her arm up and shouting her name. Shado’s eyes dart over and find them, and then Slade’s breath gets knocked out again. He slowly raises his own hand a bit to give one wave and sees her freeze, stare. He holds his breath, not sure what she’s going to do, and is only half prepared for her running straight at them, weaving between the crowd like the trees and bushes on the island. She drops her bag once she reaches them and he tenses when she quickly closes the distance, breath knocked out of him when she slams into him even though her frame is small, light, arms wrapping around his back. His own freeze, hovering awkwardly in the air while he tries to come down from his fight or flight instincts, staring at her dark hair next to his face.

She says something in Mandarin against his neck, then, “You’re _alive_.”

He slowly lowers and wraps his arms around her back, gradually squeezing tight, careful not to crush her. “I didn’t think you survived,” he says quietly, lowering his head.

“I didn’t think _you_ did,” she replies pulling back to look up at him, “When the ship went down, I was sure you- and Oliver, Sara.” Her expression turns serious and firm. “Oliver is alive, isn’t he.”

Slade nods and she blows out a breath, pulling back a little more. She stares down off to the side for a long moment, brows drawn together. She looks back up.

“I saw footage of you two on tv. What happened?” she asks.

“Not here,” he replies. Shado nods and turns around to grab her bag, shouldering it as she looks past him to his company. “And these are?” she asks, lips twitching when Felicity jolts.

“Hi! Sorry. We’re his...co...workers?” she trails off in question, glancing between Slade and Diggle, then back to Shado, “Partners in crime?” She leans closer, lowering her voice. “Maybe a little too literally.”

Shado quirks a brow, looking back to Slade. “You? With partners?” His expression flattens and she huffs a laugh. “So they followed you around and ‘made things more difficult for you’,” she surmises.

“Yes,” Slade replies bluntly, ignoring Felicity’s protest and Diggle’s derisive snort.

\--

“So where has he been?” Shado asks once they’re all piled into Diggle’s car, Diggle driving with Felicity up front, him and Shado in the back. She turns to him. “Do you know?”

“No,” Slade answers, looking over, “After the ship, I woke in the water and swam back to shore, pulled the arrow out of my eye, and-” he stops at the look on her face, looking away. “A fishing boat found me four years later,” he finishes gruffly.

“One found me too, a lot sooner,” she says, drawing his gaze back, Diggle’s in the rearview mirror. “I ended up on another island, then finally managed to return to China and found my sister.” She turns her head, looking out the window. “We had a funeral for my father, even though we did not have his remains. I burned incense for you, Oliver, and Sara, too,” she continues quietly. She looks back over, lips tugging down. “Do you know what happened to Sara?”

Slade shakes his head and Shado nods.

“Wait. Sara? Lance?” Felicity asks, half turning in her seat to look back.

Shado nods and Felicity’s brows furrow. She looks down at her tablet as she taps at it.

“He is more trained than he was on the island,” Slade says after a minute. 

Shado looks over sharply. “Trained how?”

“I don’t know all the styles,” Slade answers, “But it’s more refined than it was on the island, honed, lethal. He was wearing a black hood and garb, had a sword and a black bow and arrows. Do you know it?”

“I might,” Shado replies warily, looking down in thought, “And if it is what I think it is, this might be harder to deal with than I thought.”

“What do you think it is?” Felicity asks, turning her head to try and look back again.

“The League of Assassins,” Shado answers, and then it clicks for Slade, why the styles seemed familiar.

“I’ve heard of them,” he says, “Not often, but A.S.I.S. had a file on them. An organization of assassins that goes back decades.”

“Try hundreds of years,” Shado replies, “Maybe more. It is very old, shrouded in mystery and mysticism. Their leader, Ra’s al Ghul, he would have sent Oliver here for a purpose.”

“He’s been trying to kill his mother,” Diggle supplies, and Shado’s eyes snap up.

“His mother?” she asks disbelievingly, eyes darting to Slade, “Are you sure? Oliver?”

“I’ve stopped him twice,” Slade replies.

Shado sits back in her seat, staring at the back of Felicity’s. “That’s hard to...process. He only ever spoke of wanting to get home to them, what little he did talk of them. To try and kill them is…”

“He might not be the guy you knew,” Diggle warns, looking at them through the rearview mirror, “You need to prepare yourself for that.”

“We are not killing him again,” Shado says firmly, looking over at Slade, “We can’t.”

Slade closes his eye and sits back a little more, then looks out the window.

\-----

“Thank you for coming,” Al Sah-him says formally.

“Curious why you asked me over,” Ta-er al-Sahfer replies, glancing quickly around the apartment as she shuts the door behind herself, eyes settling back on him. She takes note of his lowered brows, the tightness at the corner of his mouth. “What is it?”

Al Sah-him walks over to the laptop, sliding a finger across the pad and waking the screen. “Tell me what you see.”

She purses her lips but follows, keeping an eye on her surroundings before looking down at the screen. He taps something and a short clip plays, barely anything, but- “Wait. Play it again.” He taps the mousepad and the video replays, a man in a black mask wielding a sword cutting down someone in a dingy alley. It looks like it might be somewhere in the Glades. “Is that-”

“What do you see,” Al Sah-him repeats firmly, and her eyes dart up.

“You think you’re seeing things,” she says, catches his shoulders tensing even as his expression remains the same, eyes averted. She drops her own back to the laptop, reaching forward to tap the ‘play’ button again. It’s short footage, barely five seconds long, but she’d recognize that move anywhere, the way he moves. She straightens back up. “Do you have anything else?”

“I saw him. Last night,” he answers, voice quiet and calm, “I thought-...”

“You thought it was the mirakuru,” she finishes for him. His green eyes shift up to hers. She’s gotten used to the color, the way they glow a little in the night and shadows. “You haven’t seen his shade since Ra’s test, correct?” He nods sharply and she looks back down at the screen. “If you say you saw Slade, then you did see him.” She looks back up, studying his face, but he’s closed off again, expression void. “What are you going to do?”

“Kill him,” he answers, reaching over and pushing the laptop lid down until it closes quietly, “If he keeps getting in my way.”

She watches him closely, lips pressing together. “Can you really do it? Kill your own mother?”

He doesn’t look at her, instead walking around her to grab his sword out of the corner between the wall and desk. “Ra’s commanded it,” he says, “I am no longer Oliver Queen, and Moira Queen is no longer my mother. Ra’s is the one who gave me life, this life.”

“That doesn’t wipe away the past, Ollie,” she replies softly. His eyes dart up sharply, expression hard, and she takes in a slow breath. “Al Sah-him,” she corrects.

“I only allow you to get away with calling me that because of our past,” he says, deadly soft, a warning. He turns and heads for the door, and she watches him, the deadly way he moves, the long hair tied at the back of his head, layered and dark gold, darker than hers. They could be siblings, Ra’s had said once, have been sent on missions pretending to be. It was strange at first, but they both got used to a lot of different things when they joined the League. Is this, killing his past life, just another one of those things?

The door closes behind him and she turns to look back at the laptop sitting innocuously on the table, out the window, then back again, fingers curling and uncurling a little at her sides. 

She could look up her own family, but she’s not sure she has the same ability to face it like he does.

\-----

“I’m still having a hard time wrapping my head around the archer being Oliver,” Felicity rambles as she paces her living room, trying to ignore the eclectic group gathered on her furniture. 

_One bodyguard, one secret vigilante agent, and one twin daughter of a Chinese Military General: Check_ , she thinks.

Shado glances up briefly before looking back down at Felicity’s tablet, studying the security camera footage Felicity managed to pull of some of Slade and, apparently, Oliver Queen’s rooftop fight. There’s not a whole lot, just a few seconds, but they’re moving- freakishly fast, so there’s a good amount to see.

“And how are you two moving so fast there?” Felicity asks.

Slade glances over then back down at the screen, sat next to Shado on the floor in front of her coffee table. He takes a sip of water and, frustratingly, doesn’t say anything.

“Was he always this talkative on the island?” Felicity snips.

Shado huffs a laugh, glancing up briefly. “Worse. He used to actually talk sometimes and it was always, ‘wanna spar? There’s nothing else to do’, or, ‘It’s your turn to kill a boar’,” she quotes, making her voice gruff and trying to throw in his accent. Slade glares over at her a little but then looks back at the screen again.

“Boar?” Felicity asks, blinking, “Right. Island. Hunting.” She stops pacing, crossing her arms. “I wouldn’t last two days.”

“You wouldn’t,” Slade agrees calmly.

Felicity throws him a look that’s completely _wasted_ because he completely ignores it while Diggle chuckles quietly.

“How’s Thea?” Felicity changes the subject, looking to Diggle, “Speaking of, you still need to talk to Moira,” she adds pointedly towards Slade. He glances up briefly before looking back down at the tablet.

“Thea’s fine,” Diggle answers, sitting back in her green chair. He looks comical. Big tough bodyguard in a black suit sitting in a lime green chair in her living room. How did her life get to this again? “But you have a point about Moira Queen,” he adds, expression going serious as he looks over at Slade, “She’s about ready to call in private investigators. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was already trying to dig up any information she can get on you on her own, which might be dangerous. You need to go talk to her.”

Slade looks over, then to Shado when she sits back a little and looks at him. “Oliver’s sister and mother?” she asks. Slade nods. “I was always curious about them,” she continues, “But they are right. You need to at least divert their attention away from what’s going on now, or bring them in.”

Slade looks at the tablet again for a long minute before pushing himself to his feet, heading for the door without a word.

“Want company?” Felicity asks, sees the back of his head shake before he pulls the apartment door open and heads out, closing it behind him. “He’s really taking this hard, isn’t he,” she says quietly, dragging her eyes back to Shado.

Shado looks up, then down at the screen, sitting back again to rest against the front of the couch. “Slade is…” she trails off in thought.

“A father? A soldier?” Diggle supplies.

Shado looks over at him and nods. “But not just that.” Diggle raises an eyebrow and she continues. “We had no one on the island but each other. Every day was live or die, and we came to trust each other almost completely. We killed to keep each other safe, animals and humans alike. That kind of bond...and to lose one of us, thinking it was your fault. He blames himself.”

“Wait, ‘humans’?” Felicity asks, taking a slow seat on the end of the couch. Shado looks over at her.

“So there _were_ other people on the island,” Diggle says, sitting forward and resting his forearms on his thighs, expression intent.

“Yes, there were,” Shado answers, “And none of them were good.”

“I’m afraid to ask,” Felicity says quietly.

Shado looks down at the tablet, screen paused on an image of Slade and Oliver mid-swing at each other with swords and a bow. Two shapes even darker than the roof they’re fighting on. “I was held captive by mercenaries for a month,” she starts, both Felicity and Diggle tensing, “Slade was held captive for a year. Oliver was only a few days, but he didn’t come away from it unscathed. Slade had a partner when he crashed on the island, and that partner joined the mercenaries when offered a deal. He was very...skilled, in methods of interrogation.”

Felicity’s hand covers her mouth. “He tortured them?”

“I’m not sure about Slade,” Shado answers, looking over, “But Oliver, yes. They wanted him to tell them where my father was. He refused.”

“Did he ever give your father up?” Diggle asks, brows drawn low together.

Shado shakes her head a little. “No,” she answers, looking back to the tablet again, “He endured, my father rescued him and helped him get away, and he met Slade.”

“Somehow, I can’t imagine Slade was thrilled,” Felicity says, as dryly as she can to try and cover the horror and nausea.

Shado laughs quietly, shaking her head again. “No. He was very much not, from what I was told.”

“So what happened?” Felicity asks.

Shado shrugs a little, then shakes her head once. “A lot of things. The three of us ended up relying on each other, trusting each other, regardless of Slade’s blunt refusals to, and then…” she trails off quietly, eyes distant, “Things...fell apart.”

“And Sara?” Felicity asks after a moment.

Shado focuses back on her. “Sara came later, on a ship called the Amazo.”

\--

A heavy knock on the front door draws Moira’s attention and she shifts a little on the tan, plush couch, leaning forward to set her glass of scotch down on the coffee table. She doesn’t get many visitors this late, no good ones, anyway. A security guard opens one of the double doors, then another walks into the room after a moment from the large foyer beyond, skin lit in the warm lighting. “Ma’am, there’s a Mr. Wilson here to see you.”

 _Wilson?_ she thinks. She tilts her head up, trying to smother her frayed nerves under a veneer of calm. “Show him in.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The guard retreats and- the man from last _night_ walks into the room. The vigilante.

She quickly pushes herself to her feet, standing tall and still while he comes to a stop and they study one another. She sees his dark eye quickly take in the room, makes a note of the eyepatch for the second time, and then looks to the two security guards stationed behind him. “You may leave,” she says. They both nod and retreat and she tries to keep her breathing steady, her heart from beating right out of her chest with anxiety, _questions_. She needs answers and doesn’t think he’s going to willingly give them in front of an audience, and she’s willing to take some risk if it means finding out about her son.

He waits until she can’t hear the guard’s steps, then a little longer, before saying, “I’m not here to harm you,” with the same accent she’d heard on the phone weeks ago.

“Or kidnap me?” she asks dryly, “Then why are you here?”

“Oliver,” he answers, and her lips flatten, heart beating harder. 

She gestures an arm out towards the opposite couch before moving over to the decanter and crystal glasses by the window. “Scotch?”

“No,” he answers, couch barely making a sound as he takes a seat, voice not subdued, but calm. She reluctantly moves back to her own side of the coffee table, grabbing her glass as she sits down across from him.

“You’ll have to forgive me if _I_ need a drink,” she says, tilting her head back and finishing the last of it. She reaches forward and sets her empty glass firmly down on the table, keeping an eye on him. He steadily watches her back and she takes him in for the first, real time now that they’re alone.

His skin is dark, his hair even darker, his lone eye only a little less so. He’s a larger man, wider than either of her husbands, if shorter. But what he lacks in their height he more than makes up for in bulk. He’s wearing a black leather jacket now, but his black shirt is tight enough for her to tell he could do anything, could kidnap her again, and there’s not much she could do to stop him if he wanted to.

“Well?” she asks stiffly, resting an arm as casually as she can on the arm of the couch, “What do you know about my son? You called me and told me he was dead.”

“He was,” the man- Mr. Wilson replies, so confident and sure, and her fingers curl a little against the soft leather of the armrest, “The last time I saw him he was bleeding out in sea water.” 

Her breath catches at the bluntness, the image, and she can’t help her eyes darting away, fingers curling tighter until her nails are pressing hard into her palm. She looks back. “What happened?”

“He somehow survived and joined an organization called the League of Assassins,” he answers, “I don’t know how, or when. And I don’t know why, but he’s here to kill you. You should take precautions, you and your daughter.”

“Kill me?” she asks incredulously, shaking her head, “No. Oliver would never-”

“He was only aiming for me last night because I was in the way,” he cuts her off roughly, voice hard and brows lowered. She presses her lips firmly together.

“What is your relationship with my son?” she asks. He doesn’t look away, holds her stare.

“We survived on the island,” he answers vaguely. He gets up and her heart hammers, quickly rising to her own feet.

“What are you going to do?” she demands.

“Find him,” he answers, half turned for the door.

“Kill him?” she makes herself ask, soft and quiet, fingers curling tight.

There’s a long, tense silence, then-

“No.”

She lets out a breath, hand flying to her chest as she slowly sinks back down to the couch. She looks up and he’s still there. She makes herself take a breath, then another. “I won’t tell the police about you, if only because you seem far more capable of catching him than they do,” she says, brows lowering, “But make no mistake, you kill him? And I will _burn your world_ to the _ground_.”

He watches her and she watches him. He doesn’t say anything, but she’s gotten very good at reading silences. 

After a minute, he turns and heads out the way he came in, and she only lets herself break down once the door clicks shut, hands coming up to cover her face as she breathes out a sob.

Slade slows to a stop outside next to his car, reaching for the door handle. He stops, letting out a rush of air and then pulling more back in. It was just as hard as he thought, talking to her. He can’t help wondering if that’s what it was like for Joe when they told Joe he was missing, presumed dead. He wonders if his son cried like he could hear her doing on his way down the front steps.

He gets his fingers under the door handle and pulls-

He lets out a sharp shout when pain explodes in his shoulder, looking down to find an arrow sticking out of it. He reaches up and yanks it out with a grunt and gritted teeth as he whips around to search across the expanse of grass to the dark trees and bushes on the other side, following the arrow’s trajectory. The gaps in between are shrouded in darkness, too much even for his eye to see through.

Something whistles through the trees and he dips his head left to avoid the second arrow before taking off, running for the spot it came out of. He’s across the grass in seconds, running into the dark, leaves brushing and rustling against his body. He quickly spots Oliver up ahead, mask gone this time but black hood pulled up, another arrow poised. He releases it and Slade dips to the side to avoid it, turning the one in his hand as he closes the distance. Oliver rapidly draws another arrow and Slade jerks to a stop, the two of them staring at each other from ten feet apart. 

Oliver’s bangs are longer, Slade notes distantly, now that he has a minute to actually look at him. They curve down against his cheek and jaw and neck, more of it on the right than the left, still dark blonde. Washed, this time, instead of raggedy or wet like on the island. His eyes are still green, still seem to glow a little in the night, and that scar is still arcing up across his left cheek, down the curve of his jaw and side of his neck until it disappears down below his turtleneck. Guilt and shame kick his insides again and Slade sucks in a quiet breath.

“Oliver,” he says, and Oliver’s fingers curl a fraction tighter on the end of his arrow before they stop.

“That isn’t my name anymore,” Oliver replies, low and firm and quiet. Slade can’t place his tone. It’s not flat, it’s not firm. Maybe insistent. Oliver pulls the arrow back a little tighter. “Stay out of my way.”

“I’m not letting you kill your family,” Slade grits out.

“I have my orders,” Oliver states calmly.

Slade grips the arrow a little tighter. “‘Ra’s’, right?” 

Oliver’s eyes narrow a fraction.

They’re quiet for a long minute.

“I called them,” Slade says quieter, breaking it. Oliver keeps watching him. “After I got back. It took me a little while, but I called your mother like you wanted. She broke down crying over the phone.”

Oliver’s eyes narrow a little again and Slade keeps watching him, his hands, his face, hyper aware of the arrow probably pointed at his heart.

“She grieved for a lost son,” Oliver eventually replies, still calm and quiet, “I am not that son. I am Al Sah-him, ‘The Arrow’.” He draws the string a little tighter, raising his aim a little higher for Slade’s left eye. Slade’s brows lower. “And I will complete my orders. If you won’t get out of my way-” Oliver cuts off with a grunt as he jerks forward sharply once, twice before he manages to whirl around and fire his arrow. It whispers off into the trees and then he drops to his knees, falling forward and landing face first in the dirt and leaves. Someone steps out between the dark and Slade moves, bending down on the way to draw Oliver’s sword out as he puts himself between him and them.

“Do you have somewhere you can hold him?” a woman’s voice asks, familiar- The person reaches up as he tenses and pushes their hood back before pulling their mask off, gold hair dark and spilling out in a wave.

“Sara,” Slade says, brows lowering as he pushes the surprise down. It’s not really that shocking, at this point. He keeps the sword raised between them.

“Slade,” she replies, dressed in nearly the same gear Oliver is. “Do you have somewhere you can hold him?” she repeats.

“Why?” he demands.

“Because you’re going to help him,” she answers.

“The kid’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want help,” Slade returns.

Her lips twitch. “That never stopped you before.”

They watch each other, her eyes nearly unreadable. After a tense minute, Slade glances back to check on Oliver. His green eyes close the rest of the way below knotted brows, black gloved fingers curled against the dirt.

“Sorry, Ollie,” Sara says softer.

Slade studies her again, glances back at Oliver, and then after a moment, slowly lowers the sword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, yes, Shado's death was bullshit and I will not stand for it


	10. There’s something inside you that isn’t right, something that haunts your dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I should tag this as slow burn ??? Also warnings for torture and blood and all that messy stuff

Thea frowns at the front door. The man just left, whoever he was. She only came down in time to see the back of his dark head, some strap around it, his leather jacket and wide shoulders, but now she can hear her mother sobbing over in the living room, not like she has since- Dad and Ollie.

She grips the stair rail harder, the wide, polished wood smooth under her hand.

Her mother’s been acting strange since last night, when she went missing briefly. She won’t say what happened, or why. Thea’s tried asking, but she keeps saying, “ _It’s nothing. I’m fine, dear_.”

She turns and retreats back upstairs, pausing to peer outside. There’s a black car in the driveway, something more modern than theirs, but no sign of the man who left.

She frowns again, heading back to her room and closing the door behind her, making a beeline for her bed. She hops on and crosses her legs, pulling her laptop up onto her lap and snaking her finger across the mousepad to wake the screen.

‘ _Starling City now has its very own Vigilante_ ’

Her brows draw together, scrolling down past the article to get to the pictures and what little there is of the camera footage, opening the first video and pushing ‘play’. 

\-----

“ _Whoa, whoa,_ _what_ is happening?!” Felicity lets as she jumps to her feet, her balcony door forced open and Slade coming in with- “Is that Oliver?!” she asks, eyes going over the black clad figure thrown over his shoulder.

Slade grunts and walks over to drop him back across her couch as Shado moves, putting herself between Oliver and the _new stranger_ walking into Felicity’s apartment- Wait, no, that’s-

“Sara Lance?” she asks incredulously, glancing back to see Diggle’s gun drawn and ready in front of him, aimed down towards the coffee table.

“What’s going on?” he demands.

“She knocked him out,” Slade answers, looking over at Sara, “We need a place to hold him.”

“Well he’s not staying here!” Felicity protests.

“Some place reinforced,” Slade continues, “Secluded.”

“Reinforced and seclud-” Felicity cuts herself off, a thought bubbling up. “I might have an idea,” she says, drawing all their gazes, “And it’ll get _him_ and all of you _out_ of my apartment!”

\--

The two cars come to a stop and Sara and Diggle get out, heading up to the large gate enclosing the property to pry the locks open, eyes darting around to the few homeless gathered around glowing metal bins of warmth. They look back, but don’t say a word, turning their weary gazes back into the fire. Sara and Diggle get back in the car after, both driving up while Slade leans towards the back passenger window, looking up to read the words across the top of the building in the glow of the street lights behind them:

‘ _Queen Industrial Inc. Steel Fabrication & Welding_’

The cars roll to a stop again just long enough for someone to get out and close the gate behind them before they continue up to the front of the factory, parking. Everyone opens their doors and gets out. Slade scoops up Oliver out of the backseat and follows Felicity and Diggle, carrying him into the foundry once they get the large metal door slid open with a loud, screeching rattle. Diggle scans their surroundings while Shado hovers near Slade’s flank at the same side as Oliver’s head, and Sara watches their backs. Slade doesn’t trust her, but for now, they have a similar goal.

“You lead us to an abandoned factory?” Diggle asks, clicking his small flashlight on, the beam sweeping the cavernous room and railings while Felicity holds up her cellphone as her own flashlight. Diggle keeps a hand on his holstered gun while he throws her a questioning look.

“Not just any factory, as you saw,” Felicity replies, tapping at her tablet, “This place is still under the Queen name but they have no plans for it, current or future. It’s just sitting here unused. _And_ ,” she adds, spinning around in place to face the rest of the group, ponytail swaying, “It has a secluded basement in the plans. We - and by we I mean _you guys_ \- might need to knock out a couple walls, but this place should suffice for keeping _him_ ,” she dips her head towards Oliver, “...well, somewhere away from innocent people and his family.”

“But we’ll need to construct our own cage,” Shado surmises.

“You are correct,” Felicity replies, spinning back around and leading the way across the dirty cement, occasional old pamphlet, and stray pieces of old work papers littering the floor to where the basement is located. She leads the way down a set of dusty stairs and into a short, cement room, stopping a few feet from a makeshift metal wall ahead and looking back. “This is it. We might need a sledgehammer but-”

Slade walks forward and lifts his foot, kicking at the wall, cutting her off. They all watch it fall forward and collapse to the floor with a loud, rickety _thud_ , opening the room up into something far longer with some light at the other end.

“Or...we could do that,” Felicity says, blinking down at the fallen wall and then looking over at Slade, then to Sara. “Do you have enough of whatever you drugged him with to keep him under while we - and again, I mean you guys - construct a cage?” She cringes a little at that, shaking her head quickly as if to dispel the thought.

“Tibetan Pit Viper venom,” Sara replies, reaching back to pull an arrow out of her quiver, “For some missions we coat our arrows in it, and I brought a few bottles.”

Slade narrows his eye at that but his gaze snaps down when he feels a shift in his arms, subtle, but there. “Sara,” he orders sharply. She quickly steps forward and stabs the arrow into Oliver’s shoulder. He barely makes a sound but goes fully lax in Slade’s arms again. Slade forces down the guilt and makes himself look back up. “Let’s get to work.”

They find steel beams and bars from the back of the factory while Diggle runs out to buy a blowtorch to weld them together, a chain and lock to keep the cage closed, and bolts to keep the whole thing secure to the floor. Sara makes a makeshift IV drip out of tape, a tube and needle, and an upturned, halved, empty water bottle that she fastens to the top of the cage while Felicity and Shado try to work on the lights. Slade deposits Oliver in the cage once it’s done, checking and stripping him of all the weapons concealed on his person, and then steps back, locking the cage, as secure as Oliver’s probably ever going to be.

“This venom should keep him weak,” Sara says while pulling a few bottles of poison out of one of her pockets, handing two over to Slade after he dumps Oliver’s weapons off to the side on the floor, “We tested it in the League a while back to test his tolerance and limits. It should keep him from getting out, but it will have side effects from building up in his system.” She pours the venom into the water bottle and tests the drip rate, tightening the looped tubing a little more before crouching down next to the cage and reaching in to take Oliver’s wrist, pulling his glove off and slipping the needle into the back of his hand before fastening his wrist to one of the bars.

“I can’t believe we’re poisoning someone,” Felicity mutters, helping Diggle set up the makeshift work area. They scrounged up a steel table from somewhere inside the foundry, found some old flood lights and a few outlets for the extension cords they picked up in the city proper. After fiddling a little more with the circuit board, they get the lights working, flooding the space.

Slade takes a slow step back from the cage after checking the lock, looking over Oliver laying on his back inside, a black mass in the center of dusty gray cement inside mismatched steel.

“Why are you doing this?” Shado asks, crossing her arms as she comes to a stop at Slade’s left, drawing him out of his thoughts.

Sara glances over for a moment, then looks back down at Oliver. “I looked up my family for the first time in five years last night,” she starts, gaze going distant, “My parents got a divorce, my dad was almost kicked off the force a few years back. I thought about what they’d think of me if they could see me now, who I’ve become. I barely recognize myself.” She takes a breath. “But that doesn’t mean I would kill them, even on an order from Ra’s. I don’t recognize him anymore,” she nods her chin towards Oliver, “I don’t want this for him.”

“Should we be wearing masks or something?” Felicity pipes up from the table towards the back, tablet sat on top of it, “The League’s not going to come after us is it?”

“No,” a new voice answers and they all tense, Diggle drawing his gun and Slade pulling one out of the back of his jeans. A woman calmly makes her way down the stairs in similar robes to Sara’s and Oliver’s, but more stylized in red and black. Her dark hair comes down in waves either side of her face, dark eyes taking them in and lips curling up a little coyly at the edges. “The League will not take action. I have ordered them to stand down.”

“Nyssa,” Sara says in a rush, shoulders tensing, “You knew?”

The woman, Nyssa’s expression softens a fraction as she comes to a stop in front of Sara, smiling a little more honestly, though it’s for none of them. “I had an inkling of what my father was up to, and it’s better this way, than the way I would have been forced into following,” she says, accent gently curling her words. She drags her eyes from Sara to Oliver unconscious in the cage. “My father wants him to take over as heir in my place,” she says, expression hardening. She shifts her eyes up, looking over each of them. “You will ensure that does not happen. If you cannot, Al Sah-him and I will be forced to fight to the death, and rest assured, I do not plan on losing.”

Slade tightens his grip on his gun, Shado shifting a hair closer to the cage in his periphery.

“You have to fight to the death to- Wait, did you say father?” Felicity’s voice angles higher.

“I am Nyssa, Daughter of the Demon’s Head,” Nyssa answers, standing tall, “Sara and I were sent here to observe Al Sah-him’s final trial to kill his remaining connection to his previous life. As it turns out, so that he could ascend and succeed my father as Ra’s al Ghul. But I am not so easily cast aside.”

“That’s what he had planned,” Sara realizes, voice quiet as her shoulders settle a little, “What will you tell him?”

“Nothing, yet,” Nyssa answers, flicking her eyes back up from Sara to them, ending on Slade, “You have three days to sway Al Sah-him from his mission. Should you fail, I will be left with the only course of action I can take.”

“You mean kill him?” Shado accuses.

Nyssa’s eyes shift to her and she inclines her head, then looks back to Sara with a softer look before turning and heading for the stairs, taking them up and out of the basement.

“Maybe we should think of installing some security,” Diggle says after a beat.

“I’m both way too tired and way too wired to process the daughter of the leader of some ancient assassins coming down here to tell us we have three days to turn Oliver good or she’ll kill him,” Felicity states, powering down her tablet, “I’m going to go get some sleep.”

“I assume you’re on first watch?” Diggle asks, looking to Slade.

“We will remain here,” Shado answers for him, turning back to look at Diggle, “You two both have day jobs to attend. At night, you can relieve one of us at a time so that we may shower and eat.”

“There’s a working bathroom upstairs and straight back. It’s not the cleanest, but I did what I could,” Felicity says on her way out, giving an exhausted wave over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Shado says, and Felicity and Diggle both stop by the stairs at her tone, looking back. Shado bows, and the magnitude of her sincerity hits Slade hard in the chest. “For everything.”

“Just do your best,” Felicity says after a moment, smiling, “We’ll be back.” 

Shado nods and Felicity and Diggle go, then she focuses back on Oliver. “Do you have a plan? To overcome four years of his life?”

“Other than try to talk him out of it and kidnap him again if he doesn’t listen? No,” Slade answers, then shifts his eye up to watch Sara studying Oliver.

“There’s something you should know,” she says after a moment, switching her gaze to them, “In the League, one of our first big trials is going under the influence of an ancient herb for three weeks that makes you hallucinate your conscience. Someone poses as the manifestation and you kill them, or they kill you. Oliver never told anyone who he saw, no one but me.” She looks at Slade, eyes intent. “He saw you.”

Slade’s shoulders tense.

“You need to know he’s already killed you once, even if it was a hallucination. It feels real, it sounds real, and the life taken is real. It’s not the same as it was on the Amazo. If given the chance, he might kill you again, this time for good,” she warns. She looks to Shado, then Oliver, then back to Slade for a long moment before finally turning to leave.

Slade watches her go while trying to process that, hiding a flinch when a small hand rests on his bicep, eye darting over. Shado looks back. “We won’t let that happen,” she says firmly. 

He doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know if there is anything to say, and watches her move over to the cage, hand sliding off his arm. She crouches down to look at Oliver through the bars. 

“He looks like he’s sleeping,” she says softly, “And his hair is so long now. It’s strange to see him, isn’t it?”

Slade doesn’t answer, instead walking over to grab one of the few chairs they found still inside and carry it over, setting it down with the back to the cage and sitting on it backwards, resting his forearms on top of the back to keep an eye on Oliver, settling in to wait for him to wake.

\-----

He comes to slow, awareness a heavy weight throughout his equally heavy body. He can smell dust and dirt and stale air, rust and metal. He tries focusing on his hearing, but he can’t pick up anything, not like usual. There’s no nearby heartbeat, no sounds of shifting bodies or passing cars, just his own heart beating sluggish in his chest and his breath coming in slow, even rises and falls of his ribcage. What happened last?

 _Slade_ , he thinks distantly, in the forest. Something hit him in the back and-

“ _Sorry, Ollie_.”

He cracks his eyes open, brows lowered.

 _Ta-er al-Sahfer_.

She poisoned him.

He gets his eyes open further and looks around, sees mismatched metal bars and beams above his head, surrounding him. His gaze catches on a clear tube coiling up to the top of the cage, connected to the back of his hand, wrist tied to one of the bars.

She’s still poisoning him.

“Oliver.”

He stills, eyes snapping up as he tilts his head back.

Shado crouches down, upside down, but-

“You’re dead,” he states. Is he hallucinating again?

Her brows draw together even as her lips curve up, small and sad. “ _Beloved_ ,” she says in Mandarin, heartbreakingly soft.

He shuts his eyes firmly, giving a brief shake of his head. “No,” he replies firmly, looking up at her again, “I’m not.”

“How long have you been telling yourself that? Thinking we were dead,” she says, still soft. It makes his heart twist a little and he hates that it does, that it can do that with a few words from an old ghost of his former life.

He shifts his eyes over and finds Slade watching him, eye dark and intent, conflicted, similar to when-

Al Sah-him closes his eyes firmly again, focusing on his breath.

No. That was another life, one that he is on his final mission to purge and be done with. Just because they aren’t dead doesn’t mean that changes. “You two being alive doesn’t change anything,” he states calmly, opening his eyes to look up at them flatly, “I am still Al Sah-him, and Oliver Queen is still dead.”

Shado’s expression twists into something painful and he holds her stare. “You were always so stubborn,” she says after a minute, lowering herself to sit cross-legged on the dirty floor, “Always running into something worse to get out of something bad.”

“This is what I have chosen,” he says.

“Do you remember what I told you?” Shado asks after a beat, “About the darkness and the light? You cannot live without both. Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, there is still light inside you, no matter how buried you make it, and we are not stopping until we find it, or we are dead. You never gave up on us, and we will not give up on you.”

He glares up at her and she glares back, and then he shifts his eyes to Slade, studying him. Slade holds his stare, body seemingly calm, but his eye anything but. Oliver could never fully read him, and Al Sah-him can’t either.

“You’re quiet,” Al Sah-him states.

“Studying my enemy,” Slade replies. “Did you know Ra’s wanted you to take his place?”

Al Sah-him’s gaze sharpens as he puzzles through that. “Nyssa,” he finally states. Of course she’d know. There is little Ta-er al-Sahfer does that Nyssa does not have knowledge of. So this was part of her plan, which means they will not come for him, and if what Slade said is true, when they do, it will not be to rescue him.

“I am a dead man,” Al Sah-him says, “Or she is.” He has only rarely bested her in combat, which means- He closes his eyes, brows drawing together a little. Unless he can somehow prove to Ra’s that he has purpose outside of becoming his heir, then this life, his new life, is over.

“I forgot how dramatic you were,” Shado says wryly, making his eyes open again. She stares down at him, a brow raised. “Why is it always certain death with you? You made a new life once, you can do it again.”

“No one leaves the League,” he replies, voice tight, “Even if I wanted to, I can’t.”

“Do you want to?” Shado presses, expression sobering.

“No,” he answers without hesitation. Her eyes turn sad again and something, something deep he thought he’d buried, flinches. Oliver Queen never liked seeing her sad, but Oliver Queen was weak.

“You can still be Oliver Queen,” she says, not a plea, but something, “You are still Oliver Queen, somewhere. I know it, just as I knew it after you killed the man who was going to kill me.”

He glares up at her again and then forces his eyes shut and his breathing to even out, trying to force it all away.

“No matter how much you change-” her voice shifts, drops lower into another voice- “ _you cannot escape what you are_.”

His eyes snap open and he looks up to find Ivo staring back.

_Lian Yu_

_“Do you see anything?” Shado asks over the wind buffeting the cliff._

_“No,” Oliver sighs, lowering the binoculars, “Nothing’s changed with the ship.”_

_“It’s been three days since he got the mirakuru and he hasn’t left,” Shado says, grip tightening on her bow, “I have a bad feeling.”_

_Oliver’s expression tightens with his grip and he jerks a little when he hears something crack, gaze snapping down. He turns the binoculars over to find one of the lenses cracked, feels Shado’s eyes on him._

_“Are you sure you’re alright?” she asks._

_“I’m-” he hesitates, “It’s just the...strength. I’m still not used to it.”_

_“And the hallucinations?” she questions._

_“I might not be as tough as Slade, but they stopped last night,” he replies. He glances out at the water, swallowing past the memory of waking up to his father standing over him, eyes clouded and furious. Oliver turns to look at her, sees her uncertainty. “I’m fine, Shado.”_

_“I just worry about you two,” she says, looking out at the Amazo again, “Between the strength and hallucinations and how much you both want to find Ivo-”_

_Plastic crumbles in his hand with a sharp snap and her eyes dart over. He looks down, lips pressing firmly together when he finds the binoculars in pieces. He opens his hand and lets them drop, guilt at breaking something useful coiling in his chest with the- the anger. It’s still there, has been there since he woke up on the submarine in Slade’s arms after the second round of excruciating pain, so bad it nearly wiped out his memory of the pain of getting shot. He’s tried redirecting it, like Slade told him to, and it’s worked, for the most part, except whenever Ivo’s mentioned or Oliver even thinks of him and he- loses it._

_“I’m trying,” he forces out, leans back a little when she steps closer. His fingers curl at his sides when she reaches up to grip his arm, keeping his eyes averted._

_“I know,” she says, soft and close, “And Slade, Sara and I, we are here for you, **beloved** ,” she finishes in Mandarin. She taught him what it means. It makes his chest warm, makes his breath come easier and the...rage, sink back down from where it came from._

_“Do you say that to all the guys?” he tries joking, finally looking up at her. Her dark eyes smile back and she leans up as he leans down, presses their foreheads together. He lets himself close his eyes for a moment, trusting her._

_“Only to those I care for,” she replies warmly, “I don’t know Sara, but you and Slade are important to me. You’re all I have on this island, but even if something were to happen...” She grips his arm tighter before pulling back. “You two will remain with me forever.”_

_His smile softens at that and he nods, fingers curled at his sides. He’s afraid to touch her. Touching anyone other than Slade, rare as that is, seems...like a bad idea, at least until he’s better at not accidentally breaking things. He doesn’t want to accidentally break **her** , or Sara._

_“The same goes for me,” he replies, “And I’m pretty sure Slade too. Not that he’ll ever say it.”_

_She huffs a laugh and his smile comes easier-_

_He stiffens when he catches an incoming whistling sound and tackles her forward with a, “ **Look out!** ”_

_An explosion goes off a few feet away and sends them both flying, rocks and dirt hitting his back and skull just before he hits an outcropping of rock and the world goes dark._

_\--_

_Oliver groans quietly as he comes to, a throbbing, dull ache taking up residence in his head. He tries getting his eyes open and quickly squeezes them shut when light pierces his skull, making the throbbing worse._

_“Hello again, Oliver,” Ivo says. Oliver jerks and grunts when he finds his wrists and ankles- caught. “We had to reinforce the restraints to keep you down. I’m glad to see it was enough.”_

_“ **Ivo** ,” he grits out, getting his eyes open. The rage spikes and he jerks his head up from the table as the man comes around, heedless of the pain in his head, gritting his teeth on an animal growl that doesn’t- doesn’t sound like him at all. It’s enough to snap Oliver out of his rage for a moment, staring up at him, stunned while Ivo raises a brow, looking him over like a specimen under a microscope._

_“I see the serum has increased more than just your strength,” Ivo observes, “Good to see the notes I was studying all these years are still accurate.”_

_“ **What do you want?** ” Oliver growls out, “And where’s Shado?”_

_“I tried injecting the mirakuru into some of the subjects I have here,” Ivo begins casually, completely ignoring his second question while turning away to slowly pace his way around the table, “You see Oliver, you and- who was it, Slade? Should have died from taking the mirakuru without a sedative. Yet, here you are, alive and kicking. I tried administering it to the men on the boat and, well, some of them died, some of them screaming. The rest are either insane or on their way to dying.” He stops, hands crossed at his lower back, and bends down over Oliver, staring at him with cold, calculating eyes. “Now, how come you’re still alive and my volunteers are not?”_

_“How should I know?” Oliver grits back._

_“Precisely,” Ivo replies, straightening back up. He walks back around to the other side of the table and reaches for a box on the back of the counter set against the nearby wall, pulling a couple latex gloves on and a pair of wide, clear glasses. Oliver watches him, fear and rage a tug-of-war in his chest as he struggles against the restraints. Ivo turns back to him and grabs a pair of medical scissors, reaching for the collar of his shirt. He cuts it open all the way down even while Oliver keeps trying to struggle, pushing the halves apart and pressing a hand to his bare stomach. Oliver flinches, stomach squirming while his eyes dart up from the hand to Ivo staring down at him dispassionately._

_“Now,” Ivo says casually, reaching over to grab a scalpel off the side table. Latex fingers prod a little around Oliver’s stomach and probe down to his side, stopping and pressing while Oliver’s fear overrides his anger, heart beating faster. “Sedatives didn’t work on the prisoners post-injection, so I doubt they’ll work on you. So, you’ll just have to hold still.” Ivo reaches forward with the scalpel and pain splits Oliver’s side. He throws his head back and screams_ -

\--

_He blacks out for a time, the pain overwhelming until he can’t feel or hear or see anything. Oliver’s not sure how long it lasts before he jerks awake to more pain, sometimes worse than the previous, sometimes less, but always there. It feels like his body is trying to knit the damage closed, but Ivo just keeps cutting with interested hums and intrigued observations, voice a consistent sound to the restraints jerking a little against the table when Ivo tries to dig his scalpel in deeper. He cuts things out, Oliver’s not sure what, skims his blade across Oliver’s insides while the salty smell of blood fills his senses and the warmth of it spilling out of his body leaves him weak and shaky. The pain becomes all he knows, not the trust in his friends, not the rage against Ivo for trying to kill them, for brainwashing Sara, not the longing to get back home. It all falls away one by one, drowned in the pain and the fear of what he might be doing like nothing else. Oliver hangs on to the need to survive by a thread, but the rest is washed under the onslaught like the water had washed over his head during the shipwreck, trying to drag him down in the undertow._

_The pain gradually moves up and around to just below his ribcage and Oliver chokes out another, weak moan past clenched teeth, fists clenched and shaking while he gives another useless jerk against the restraints._

_“I’m amazed you’ve managed to stay awake this often,” Ivo observes calmly, voice moving up closer, “I’ve had some die from shock, completely useless. Some have died halfway through. But you, I saw it in your eyes when I held my gun to your head. You have something else inside you, something that makes this progress in my research possible. Thank you.”_

_The blade nicks and scrapes the last bone at the bottom of his ribs and Oliver shouts, raspy but loud and sharp, nails digging hard into his palms. He’s pretty sure they started bleeding a while ago too, but he’s lost track of if the moisture in his palms is sweat or blood or if it’s both. He can smell the blood on the air, mixing in with the sharp scent of the latex gloves and Ivo’s own scent, a little stale like he needs a shower._

_Oliver can feel his skin shifting, tries to swallow down the nausea of Ivo’s fingers moving around in his insides._

_“And to answer your question from earlier, since you’ve been so good for me,” Ivo continues. He pulls the scalpel out and Oliver lets out something between a quiet groan and sob. He vaguely hears metal clatter on metal and then the sound of more metal scraped up. The pain returns, bigger, wider, scraping sharp against his bone again and he screams, voice rough and hoarse._

_“I won’t repeat myself, Oliver,” Ivo chides as his scream slowly dies down, pulling the blade out and reaching over for something, “Your friend Shado is alive. She’s in one of the cages out in the center of the ship. And I’ll let you in on a little secret.” The blades don’t come back and Oliver doesn’t hear anything else past his own gasping pants, but he feels something shift and loom over him, then stale breath at his ear. “I was never going to kill her, or Sara. It was always going to be you, Oliver,” Ivo says, low and quiet, “You see, female subjects are hard to come by out here, and now that I have you, the last piece in my research, I’m going to need them to test my findings on.”_

_Oliver sucks in a longer breath through the pain, forcing his eyes to focus. The porthole window on the other side of the room slowly sharpens from blurred daylight and surrounding grey into water and the island beyond, and the bolts in the metal window frame. He slowly turns his head, a monumental effort, and fixes the best glare he can manage on Ivo’s steel blue eyes._

_“I’m going to kill you,” Oliver manages to get out, rough and dry._

_“Expecting your friends to mount a rescue?” Ivo taunts, leaning back a little before standing up straight, smirking down at him, “Even with the mirakuru in his system, your friend can’t handle a whole boat of armed men alone, and we both know Sara can’t fight.” He reaches down and tugs a little at the restraint around Oliver’s limp left wrist. “And you’re here, strapped to this table.” Ivo lets go of it. “No, I think it’s going to be just you and me until you’re of no further use to me.”_

_Oliver glares up at him, exhausted, pain lining his face-_

_Gunfire goes off- somewhere, and Oliver jerks against his restraints again, adrenaline spiking. He pauses when he feels something shift as Ivo’s eyes snap up and his head turns towards the door, tensing. “Well, I guess your friends are stupider than I thought.”_

_“You shouldn’t be worried about them,” Oliver says._

_Ivo’s eyes drop back down. “And why is-”_

_Oliver forces his arm up with as much strength and adrenaline as he can muster and the chinked thick chain link on his cuff **snaps** , hand flying to Ivo’s throat as he sits up against the pain, teeth gritted. Ivo chokes, hands flying up to Oliver’s wrist before flailing down, metal scraping against metal as he grabs for something to use. Oliver digs his fingers in with a shout, straining against the pain in his stomach and side, and they slide through Ivo’s throat like butter, Ivo’s eyes wide as he chokes. Blood runs down Oliver’s hand, wrist, and arm, soaking into his black sleeve and down the front of Ivo’s dirty white shirt, staining it dark red._

_Oliver rips the front of Ivo’s throat out, blood spraying across his bare chest, face, and hair as Ivo’s hands come up to try and close the gaping hole, dropping heavily to his knees while Oliver watches, panting and shaky, eyes hard. Ivo drops to his side, wide eyes staring up at him as his body starts twitching, blood pooling quick across the metal floor. Oliver keeps watching until they gradually go sightless and he smells the evidence that Ivo’s dead, then reaches over and scrabbles at the lock on his other wrist, teeth gritting again against the pain._

_The gunfire gets louder outside the door up ahead and Oliver’s eyes snap up. There’s a man’s scream, then another muffled through the thick metal, the sound of someone choking and then the door is kicked open off its hinges and Slade comes through, both swords raised and covered in blood. “Oliver!”_

_“Slade!” Oliver breathes, relief making his limbs weaker than they already are. Slade vaults the rail in front of the door and is across the room in a beat, taking in the cuffs, the blood, the mess of Oliver’s torso and Ivo dead on the floor, eyes wide and staring sightlessly ahead._

_Slade’s expression hardens, eyes still wild, and he reaches for the cuffs at Oliver’s ankles, getting them undone before going to the one on his left wrist. Oliver practically flies off the table as soon as he’s free, nearly collapsing on his feet until Slade drops a sword and catches his arm, one of Oliver’s hands coming up to grip his shoulder for balance. Slade sets the other sword on the table and reaches up to pull the soaked side of his shirt away, checking the damage in his side. Oliver doesn’t look._

_“Kid,” Slade says quietly, dark eyes shifting up to his._

_Oliver just breathes for a minute, closing his eyes and trusting Slade like he trusted Shado earlier to watch their backs. “I just need a minute,” he pants, trying to get his- everything under control._

_“Oliver,” Slade says firmly._

_“I just need a minute!” Oliver snaps, grip tightening on Slade’s shoulder. Slade tightens his grip on Oliver’s arm and doesn’t say anything else, letting go of his shirt. Oliver slowly gets his breathing back under control, opening his eyes and looking around. The table is covered in blood in his periphery, most of it probably his, the top of the side of his pants soaked and more blood streaking down his pant leg from his wounds now that he’s upright. He drags his eyes up and over and stills, breath catching._

_There’s bone fragments in a petri dish on the counter, a vial of blood, soft pink tissue, chunks of it._

_Oliver swallows down bile and closes his eyes firmly. His brows draw together as the backs of his eyes sting, throat going tight, and he lets himself be weak for one minute, just one minute, dropping his head to Slade’s blood streaked shoulder. Slade’s hand comes up and rests against the back of his head, holding him there, the hand on his arm gripping tight. Oliver sucks in a ragged breath, swallows, and tightens his own grip on Slade’s shoulder hard enough to bruise. Would, if they weren’t different now. He lifts his head after a minute and looks at Slade, noses inches away while Slade’s hand slides from the back of his head to the side of his neck._

_“I killed him,” Oliver breathes, eyes locked with Slade’s, “I **wanted** to kill him.”_

_“I wanted to kill him too,” Slade replies, voice low and eyes furious, “Would have if you didn’t beat me to it.”_

_Oliver swallows, searching his face. “What are we turning into?”_

_“I don’t know, kid,” Slade replies, shifting his hand up just a little. His gloved thumb brushes Oliver’s jaw and Oliver shudders, eyelids lowering a bit._

_**It doesn’t hurt** , he thinks, **These touches don’t hurt**. Oliver lifts his head a little, tilting it as Slade searches his eyes, that- **something** from the sub in them again. They never talked about it. Slade slowly leans a little closer and Oliver’s heartbeat picks up, Slade’s thumb brushing his jaw again-_

_“Slade! Oliver!” comes Sara’s voice, and they pull apart, not fast, not quick or running away, they just pull apart._

_“Later,” Slade says firmly, a promise, gripping the side of Oliver’s jaw for a moment before reaching over to pick up his sword._

_Oliver makes himself take a breath while wrapping an arm around his waist and watches Slade bend down to pick up his other sword, accepting it when Slade hands it to him. Oliver glances down at Ivo for one more, long moment, then shifts his gaze up and slowly follows Slade to the door._

Oliver blinks his eyes open sluggishly, staring up through the bars at the gray ceiling beyond.

But there was no ‘later’.

He shifts his head back and drags his eyes up, finding Slade still sat in the chair, cheek resting on his crossed forearm and eye closed. Al Sah-him looks at him, over the leather jacket, the black tank top beneath, the dark jeans, the eyepatch.

They killed each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Local IT Woman Plagued by Trained Killers, _'They're like cockroaches!'_ she cries


	11. Two years gone, came back as some bones and so cynical, this skin don’t feel like home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely sure about this chapter but here you go

He flinches awake, eyes snapping open, expecting to see Ivo standing over him again but he just sees mismatched bars and gray ceiling, distant daylight slanting across the cement above instead of coming through a port window to his right, hitting metal. He stares up for another minute, two, before finally shifting and slowly pushing himself up to sit, stilling at a metallic _click_ behind him and looking back over his shoulder.

“Going to shoot me?” he asks.

“If I have to,” Slade replies evenly, pistol pointed somewhere to his lower left, maybe his shoulder, maybe his side, a non-fatal shot. “Even with the poison in your system, you’ll live.”

Al Sah-him keeps his movements slow as he sits up the rest of the way, slanting his eyes over when he hears steps and, “ _Slade_.” Shado skips down the last few stairs and quickly makes her way over, pushing the top of Slade’s gun down with a hand. “There’s been enough violence. We need to get through to him, not _shoot_ through him.”

Slade tucks his gun back into the back of his jeans, jacket having disappeared at some point while Al Sah-him was asleep, and Al Sah-him slowly scoots back, resting his back against the bars next to the IV tube taped down the side of the cage to his wrist.

“Are you hungry?” Shado asks him, moving to the table set further down the room some feet away, closer to the light at the other end and water streaming down on the other side of the foggy glass like rain. She opens one of the paper bags sat on top, rustingly filling the room briefly before she comes back over with a white takeout box. She crouches down to slip it through the bars and push it across the floor with her fingers. “Sorry, no chopsticks,” she says, an attempt to lighten the mood, eyebrows drawn together but lips curling up. She sits back on the floor and crosses her legs, not averting her eyes from his stare. After a moment, she glances between him and Slade, huffing a breath and tilting her head as she reaches back for her ponytail, pulling the band out and letting her dark hair loose. “We didn’t always talk on the island but you two _used_ to have a sense of humor.”

“Humor’s not going to fix this,” Slade grunts while she shakes her hair out, running her fingers back through silky strands.

“No, but it wouldn’t hurt to try lightening the mood a little,” she replies, slanting a look back at him. Slade doesn’t say anything to that and gets to his feet, unstraddling the chair and heading for the stairs. He pauses and reaches back for his gun, raising a brow at Shado. She shakes her head and he lets it go, taking the stairs up and out of the room.

“He feels guilty, you know,” she says softer after a moment, drawing her eyes back to him, “For the Amazo.”

They’re quiet for a minute.

“There’s nothing to fix,” Al Sah-him says, quiet and firm, giving her a hard stare. She just smiles back.

“The three of us are ten kinds of damaged,” she replies, crossing her arms and bending forward to rest her elbows on her thighs, watching him, “You and Slade even more so. But honestly? I’m just happy to see you.” Her eyes soften and he shifts his own away to the wall opposite the cage. He doesn’t hear her sigh or get up and pace, just feels the prickle of her gaze on the side of his face and tries to smother the traitorous, buried, faint kick in his chest, barely anything, but there.

“ _Ah, those pesky feelings are coming back_ ,” Ivo says lightly. Al Sah-him’s eyes flick up to him before he can restrain himself, quickly darting them back down to the wall. Tan and white idly pace in front of the cage ahead of him, then continue on around it, like a predator circling his prey. “ _You tried to bury them, but I guess even the great ‘Ra’s al Ghul’ can’t wipe those away completely. And after all that training you endured, too_.” Ivo _tsks_ and Al Sah-him ignores him, focusing on keeping his breathing even. _In, out. In, out_. The poison will start slowing his system within the day, make it harder to think, to function efficiently. He glances around the cage again, the room, finds his weapons off to the side on the floor by the wall and looks away again.

Ivo slips out of his periphery towards Shado and Al Sah-him tilts his head a fraction, letting his vision slip a little more to the left to put him back in it.

“ _She is quite lovely, isn’t she_ ,” Ivo observes. Al Sah-him keeps his breathing steady. In, out. “ _Frankly, regarding our session together_ ,” Ivo continues casually, “ _I always wished I’d caught your other friend instead. Slade has much more on him I could have scraped away_. _Just think, if I had taken him instead of you, maybe you wouldn’t be as messed up as you are, bottling your emotions under the flag of the League. He could have handled it better, wouldn’t have snapped and tried to kill all those innocent prisoners. Maybe then you wouldn’t have stabbed him in the eye, and he wouldn’t have slit your throat_.” Al Sah-him ignores the smirk in his voice. “ _How many did you kill before he finally killed you? Three? Four? Then you found the one in Russia that got away after joining the League and killed him too. I was actually kind of proud of you for that_.” 

Al Sah-him keeps himself still.

 _In, out. In, out_. 

“ _Focus on your training_ ,” Ra’s had told him, hands folded at his back and dark green robe brushing the floor with every step, pacing a slow, patient circle around him with all the time in the world, “ _You must remember that emotions, while not prohibited, are not our driving force. We believe in what we are doing, that we are bettering the world. Nothing must come before the League: not vengeance, not love, not passion for anything save the mission. You must complete it, or you have failed the League, you have failed the world. The world has seen enough pain and disappointment, do not add to its burden with your own petty, mortal struggles. To be human is to struggle, and we must be more than that. You, must be more than that_.”

He takes another breath and it comes easy.

“What is the League like?” Shado asks, drawing him out of his meditation. Al Sah-him glances over and her dark, unreadable eyes stare back. “This place you ended up in, that you’re so devoted to. What is it like? How did you get there? The last thing I remember of the island was the Amazo exploding, then getting pulled out to sea. I woke up floating on a piece of one of the cargo crates too far out to see Lian Yu and had to swim until I found new land. Where did you go?”

Al Sah-him drags his eyes away, staring ahead at the wall again. “The ocean,” he answers quietly, because there’s no harm in telling her. She can’t do anything with the information. “Nyssa found Ta-er al-Sahfer and I and took us in. Ra’s chose to save me, instead of let me die.” He catches the sound of footsteps, quiet, slow. Slade. “The wound was too deep,” Al Sah-him continues, turning his head to look straight back at Slade through the mismatched bars. Slade comes to a stop, expression hard. “The sword cut an artery. I was dying.”

_Nanda Parbat, The League of Assassins_

_“What have you brought us, my daughter?” a man’s voice asks, smooth and low and patient._

_“People of interest,” a woman replies with an accent he’s never heard before._

_Oliver can’t get his eyes open, can barely breathe, breath rasping faintly past his cracked, open lips. His limbs are heavy, so heavy, almost as much as they were when he first died. He has enough mind to know the mirakuru is the only thing keeping him alive, can’t feel the blood soaking into his shirt anymore but he can feel the gash, air against the open wound through the cracks in the makeshift bandage, long and gaping. He might die again. **He’s going to die again** , this time **because** of Slade-_

_**Or maybe it was me** , he thinks, distant and hazy, **Maybe I finally became something that had to be killed**. Sara warned them about the mirakuru, she warned them-_

_**Sara**. **Shado**._

_Oliver tries to pry his eyes open, manages to get a crack of light through the dark and slowly shifts them over, trying to find Sara and Shado. There’s- fire, torches on the walls. The room is still dim, dark warm, orange walls and floor, some kind of rock. There’s- men in strange black clothes, masks, and hoods lining the curving room. Their clothes aren’t like the mercenaries on the island, something different. Something Oliver’s never seen before._

_“Interesting indeed,” the man’s voice says, closer than it was, “I’m surprised this one is still alive.” There’s a whisper of movement and then a shadow over him. Oliver drags his eyes up as much as he can, slowly trails up black and dark green and shadows to a man’s face, hair dark save for the white starting at his temples. His eyes are a darker green than his...robe?_

_“This one has strength I have not seen,” the woman says, the sound of something shifting, “He crushed this with his bare hand just after I put him on my plane, barely alive.”_

_The man looks up and makes an interested hum, eyes dropping back down to study him. “You are going to die,” he says, a simple statement. Oliver keeps breathing, slow and raspy, his heartbeat sluggish. “But it does not have to be so,” the man continues, “How much do you want to live?”_

_Live?_

_Something shifts up behind the man and Oliver’s eyes flick up, breath catching. His father stares back down at him, eyes furious and determined. Oliver feels like it a kick in the gut, like a faint fire catching under his skin._

_His fingers curl._

_The man rises but Oliver doesn’t look at him, keeps his eyes on his father’s, trying ignore that determination attempting to take root in his chest where he thought his no longer burned._

_“Very well,” the man says, and then Oliver’s being lifted, a faint, pained sound clawing its way out of his throat when it irritates his wounds, a fresh wash of warmth soaking into his dry, salt stiff clothes and filling his nose with the smell of blood. “I am going to give you the gift of life. What you do with it, we shall see.”_

_**Life?** Oliver thinks fuzzily as they start moving. _

_The man smells strange, he thinks distantly, like herbs and something earthy. Not like Slade or Shado or the island, and not like the chemical smell that hovered around Sara. It’s deeper, more ingrained, like he is part of the earth, instead of on it._

_A minute passes, then another, time blurring. His eyes close and he feels the floor levels dip and drop, the man’s steps rhythmic and lulling. They eventually slow and a glow catches his attention behind his eyelids. Oliver forces them back open to a large, dome, rocky and cavernous room made of a darker, deeper stone than the last room he was in. The glow is coming from up ahead and he glances over to find his father standing next to a large, rocky crater, wide and deep in the earth and filled with some sort of glowing water._

_“ **Survive** ,” his father tells him, a demand, an order, a request, “ **You must live**.”_

_**Dad** , he thinks. The man carrying him comes to a stop at the edge of the crater, slowly kneeling down one knee at a time. He moves and bends forward as he lowers Oliver down, the water’s glow getting brighter until it starts drowning out Oliver’s surroundings. _

_“ **Survive** ,” his father repeats. _

_Oliver swallows, remembers the feeling through the cloying fog, the useless weight of his body, all the running, the desperation, the discomfort and impossible choices he kept having to make: who lives, who dies. He’s lowered into the water. It’s not hot, not cold, but it tingles along his skin, lights along his nerves._

_“ **You must live** ,” his father says louder, voice harder, even as the water comes up over Oliver’s head and he gasps it into his lungs, chokes and drowns in it. The last thing he sees is his father’s distorted face through the water’s surface, expression set, determined. A new fire floods his veins, his gaping wound, and sets him ablaze, different from the mirakuru, burning so bright it drowns out the world and every single thought. He thinks he screams, but he’s not sure the sound that comes out is human anymore_.

\--

_He blinks awake, stares blankly up at a stone ceiling, a glow shifting across it like the reflection off water or too much sun in his eyes. He doesn’t feel...anything, laying there for- he doesn’t know how long, and then- An ember, coaxed to life with gentle breath grows, grows, and grows until it burns up his chest, his insides, his bones, his skin, his nails his hair his teeth his eyes his-_

_He rolls over with a grunt and digs his fingers into the stone floor, head whipping up when he hears a shift. A man stands a few feet away, dark green robe almost black in the shadows from the glow behind him, casting him in silhouette._

_“What are you going to do with this gift?” the man asks, voice echoing a little off the walls, and he stills, eyes searching the shadows in the creases of the man’s face, his robe while he tries to- process-_

_“ **Survive**.”_

_**Dad** , he thinks, the thought making him shudder. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to- sift through the-...what is it. There’s just so much- fire. No, not- That’s not right. It’s not fire, it’s like water, like air, like liquid lightning in his veins, throbbing in his temples with every heavy beat of his heart. It’s intoxicating, it’s **maddening**._

_He forces his eyes open, looks around. There’s gashes in the stone, shattered rocks and- claw marks. He pulls his fingers out of the stone and sees dirt beneath both sets of nails. Did he- He looks down, feels around at the side of his neck where Slade cut him, at his side where Ivo had dug in. Closed scars-_

_“I-” he croaks out, voice harsh and rough like he’s been screaming, like-_

_Steps scuff nearby and he throws himself to the side, rolling up to his feet. He stares wide-eyed at-_

_“ **Ivo** ,” he chokes out, brows lowering as his fingers curl into fists and he bares his teeth._

_“Whatever you see is not there,” the man says, making him jerk, eyes snapping over, then back. Ivo smirks, sliding his hands into his pockets, and- And he sees his dad standing a little further back, watching him, so strong willed and determined. Why didn’t he survive instead? Why did he have to-_

_“ **Kid**.”_

_He straightens, slowly turning his head. A man with dark skin stares back, hair black as the shadows and an arrow sticking out of his eye-_

_He covers his face in his hands, gritting his teeth as he digs his fingers into his hair._

_“ **No** ,” he grits out, “ **Slade**. I didn’t mean to- I didn’t- I didn’t-”_

_Something metal striking rock makes his head jerk up and he looks forward, finds an ornate sword sticking out of the ground a few feet in front of him, a gold dragon’s head at the top of the hilt staring at him with its sightless eyes and open maw. He drags his eyes up._

_“Defeat your ghosts,” the man in the robe says simply, crossing his hands at his back._

_“I killed him,” he says, lightning in his chest flickering, wavering, it surges up- “I killed-”_

_Slade comes charging at him with a rough yell and he grabs the sword up before thinking, swinging to the side- Slade disappears and he stares, wide eyed, then whirls around and stabs it through Ivo, watches him turn to smoke. He stares at his father beyond who stares calmly back, his hand trembling faintly around the hilt. He **can’t** \- But apparently he **can** -_

_“What is your name, boy?” the man asks._

_He stares at his father, remembers the sound of the gunshot, loud and violent and close, intimate, horrifying, remembers the feeling of his fingers sinking into Ivo’s throat, of blood coating his hands around the rock he used to smash in that crewman’s head, remembers the feeling of his arrow sinking into Slade’s eye-_

_“I don’t want it,” he says quietly, like a child, nearly a whisper, “I don’t deserve it anymore.”_

_“Then who will you be now?” the man asks._

_He drags his eyes down to the sword in his hand, tightens his grip around the gold scaled body and feels the wooden arrow shaft from the Amazo, hears Yao Fei dryly scold him, hears Shado’s gentle instruction as he lines up a shot with her bow and arrow, feels the arrowhead sink into Slade’s head-_

_He closes his eyes, letting go of the sword. It drops with a hollow ring, the sound echoing throughout the room. “I will be an arrow,” he says, swallows, “I will be the arrow that kills everything I touch.” A penance, a reminder._

_“Ah,” the man says, steps moving closer. He hears the blade whistle faintly through the air when it’s picked up. “Arrows are versatile,” the man says, a fact, “Archery is the art of patience, precision, and mobility. Right now, you are little better than a child swinging a sword hoping to hit its mark.”_

_“You want to turn me into something?” he asks, opening his eyes and looking over. The man’s lips turn up, just a little, amused and something else. A secret, maybe. He’s not sure. It’s different from Ivo, from Fyers, his father, but they all wanted something from him, something he doesn’t - can’t - give._

_“I want **you** to turn yourself into something,” the man replies, sheathing his sword._

_“Why?” he demands._

_“You chose to live,” the man replies, “You tell me.”_

_He pauses, glancing around the cavern again. He doesn’t see his father or Ivo or Slade, Shado or Sara. There is no one, just him. He can’t look to them for the answers anymore._

_“What do you, The Arrow, want to become?” the man asks._

_He takes a breath past the lightning in his chest, focuses on the inhale, the slow and steady way his chest fills to clear his thoughts, just like Yao Fei and Shado taught him. He lets it out just as slow. “I’ve already become something.”_

_“ **Survive. Right my wrongs**.”_

_He closes his eyes, keeps them firmly shut and focuses on his breathing until his father’s- Robert Queen’s voice echoes and fades. He thinks of his family, of Sara, of Yao Fei, Fyer’s men, Shado yelling his name to the background of fire raging and water flooding the ship, of Slade’s forehead touching his and large arms holding him still while he thrashes and dies and comes back to life. He thinks of Billy Wintergreen cutting into his body, of Ivo doing it, of Slade._

_**They’re all dead** , he thinks, **And it’s my fault**. _

_He reaches down, digs the small book his father gave him out of his pocket and looks at the deformed cover, the wrinkled pages._

_He’s dead too, and the people he knows that aren’t are better off not knowing him._

_“Oliver Queen is dead,” he states firmly, brows drawing together, “I’m something else. I don’t want...my life to ever touch another’s like this again.”_

_The man observes him, hand resting on the pommel of his sword like the gold dragon is a favored pet. “You have known much pain and loss, and you don’t want to be the source of it for those you love anymore.”_

_He presses his lips together while he tightens his grip on the book._

_He doesn’t. He doesn’t want to see someone suffer and die for a madman’s conquest because of him, lay on a metal table and get his body torn to pieces like a **thing** because of what he is, see his friends die because of the monster he’s become. He doesn’t want to be the one to hurt the ones he loves, the ones that are left, anyway. He can’t go back to his life, not with- not with being what he is now. It’s better if..._

_The man inclines his head, then turns and starts for the tall, dark entryway. “Come.”_

_He hesitates, watching the man’s back retreat, and looks around again. His father is a mirage on the other side of the pit of water, flanked by new ghosts and shadows. He makes his feet move, following after the man, away from them, pocketing the book and starting down a path no one else has set out for him, not Fyers, not Yao Fei, not Slade, not his father._

_**If I do this, it will be my choice** , he thinks, taking a breath, **I will have no one else to blame but myself**._

_But he already blames himself, for most of it, for a lot of it. Adding on more isn’t going to change anything, and it’s a small price to pay if it means never hurting anyone he cares about ever again._

_\--_

_But those are the thoughts of a child. And he learns, that is not the way the world works._

\-----

“Hey, Shado. How’s it going?” Felicity asks lightly, shuffling to a stop at the look on her face, “That bad, huh?”

“I got him to talk a little,” Shado replies, stepping forward to help take the takeout bags off of Felicity’s arm, “But he’s been sleeping a lot, or pretending to be. It’s hard to tell. He’s asleep now.” She turns and leads them down into the basement, Felicity and Diggle following. “How is Oliver’s sister?” she asks, lowering her voice and looking back to Diggle, “You are watching her, right?”

“She’s fine,” Diggle answers, lowering his own voice as they step out into the basement, “A little cagey, but I think that’s because her mother is acting cagey.” Shado quirks a brow and Diggle shakes his head. “Probably something to do with Wilson’s visit. Speaking of, where is he?” he asks, looking around.

“Heard your car pull up and left,” she answers shortly, setting the bags down with a quiet rustle on the table.

“‘Heard our car’?” Felicity asks, hushed, brows drawn together as she leans closer, “What kind of hearing does he have? Between that and the moving fast, I’m starting to think you guys aren’t telling us something. Actually, I’ve been thinking that for a while, but this just adds to it.”

Shado’s lips flatten and she glances back to the cage where Oliver’s sitting against the side of it, head lowered and eyes closed, bangs hiding most of the scar on his cheek and neck. It would be better if they know, if they could be prepared.

“If I tell you, it must not leave this room,” she says, looking back to them. Felicity and Diggle’s expressions sober and they nod in turn. Shado glances back at the cage one more time before turning to the takeout, pulling the white boxes out. “Slade and Oliver were injected with a serum on the island called ‘Mirakuru’. Miracle,” she translates for them when she looks over and sees their puzzled expressions, “It increases strength, stamina, healing, but it has...side effects. Hallucinations, instability.”

“Are you telling me they’re super soldiers?” Diggle asks, incredulous.

“I thought that was only in comic books,” Felicity pipes in.

“It’s very real,” Shado says firmly, looking back to the cage again, “And we would not have done it if we hadn’t needed to.”

Felicity and Diggle look over. “The scar?” Felicity asks, looking back, “From Slade? No, wait,” she pauses, brows furrowing, “That had to be after.”

Shado’s lips flatten again and she looks back to the cage, eyes...sad, Felicity notes, pained, and something else. Angry, maybe? “There was a man called Ivo, a scientist, he came on the ship I mentioned, the Amazo,” Shado explains quietly, looking back, “He came for the mirakuru, and he got it, but he took Sara and I prisoner. He made us kneel in the dirt and put a gun to our heads.” 

Felicity’s hand comes up to cover her mouth. “What happened?” she asks quieter.

“Oliver,” Shado replies, brows drawing up a little. She looks back to the cage like she can’t help herself, eyes drawn like magnets. “He threw himself in front of Ivo, and Ivo shot him instead. He was going to die. He would have, if Slade hadn’t shown up and given him the mirakuru.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Diggle says quietly, wiping a hand down his mouth and looking over to the cage too, “This island is sounding more and more like it was a nightmare.”

“It was, for most of it,” Shado replies.

“But how did Slade get the mirakuru?” Felicity asks, drawing their eyes back. She presses her lips together. “I kind of regret asking already.”

“He was burned in an explosion when him and Oliver were trying to get to me,” Shado answers, still quiet, “Ivo fired on our hideout.”

Diggle shakes his head a little, turning away and rubbing a hand over his head. “Mercenaries, super soldiers, ancient assassins, mad scientists.” He turns back around. 

“It’s a lot, I know,” Shado replies, “So for now.” She turns and grabs two takeout boxes, handing them to Felicity and Diggle. “Let’s focus on the present.”

“Thank you for telling us,” Felicity says, accepting the box, “It’s good that we know, in case...something happens.”

They all look back over at the cage, surprised to find Oliver’s green eyes watching them.

“Hungry?” Shado asks.

He doesn’t say anything.

Felicity shudders a little at his unblinking, eerie, green stare and focuses on opening her takeout box, reaching for a fork. “How’s Wilson doing?” she asks quietly, lowering her voice a little more now that they have an obvious listener.

Shado sighs quietly, reaching for her own fork and tearing open the protective plastic and then the top of the takeout box. “He’s not talking,” she answers, just as quiet, “He was never one to express how he felt on the island, at least not outside of surviving, but I think the guilt is eating at him and I don’t know how to get them to _talk_. They’re both so stubborn, and four years and the mirakuru hasn’t changed that. It might have even made it worse,” she grouses a little, stabbing at her food.

“He’ll come around,” Diggle says quietly, “Guy like Wilson, he knows we don’t have long. He’ll do something, when it comes down to it.”

“How do you know?” Shado asks.

“Know the type,” Diggle replies simply, accepting a box and fork when Felicity offers them over.

“I hope you’re right,” Shado sighs quietly, looking back over at Oliver. His eyes are closed again, but she doesn’t think he’s sleeping this time. 

She grabs another takeout box off the table and walks over, crouching down to slip it through the bars, taking back the one he didn’t eat. He doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t look at her, doesn’t say a word. It breaks her heart in ways she didn’t think could still be broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going with a more comic/animated series version of the Lazarus Pit since I'm not too fond of the show version, and I'm kind of mashing together a few versions of Ra's.


	12. I get along without you very well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. HAVE been poking and prodding at this for like two days and I'm still not sure if I'm entirely happy with it but I'm tired so here we go  
> Also here is the writing playlist I'm still putting together that I listen to when I'm working on this, if anyone wants it; https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLKdBOKj7QnFVNBLnAksANVZE-FBd6lWvU

Slade frowns down at his phone as he heads back downstairs, tucks it back into his pocket and tries to ignore the text vibration against his thigh. He slows to a stop when Shado makes a beeline for him.

“Where have you been?” she asks, low and quiet, cornering him at the bottom of the stairs, “You were gone longer than we agreed.”

“I got a call,” Slade replies, fingers curling a little at his sides, “I was trying to decide what to do.”

“Who was it?” she asks, searching his face.

He looks back, glancing away then back again. “Joe.”

She straightens a little. “Your son?” He nods. “Did you answer?”

“No,” he replies shortly, crossing his arms over his chest, “Now’s not the time.”

“You should talk to him,” she says, glancing over at the cage pointedly, “Both of them. You haven’t, not once, outside of saying you’d shoot him. It’s been almost two days, Slade.”

He glances over at the cage, tense. Oliver’s back is to them. It sounds like he’s sleeping again, breathing deep and even, if slower and a bit raspier than before. He can’t be sure if that’s an act or the poison.

“I don’t know what to say,” he forces out, just as low and quiet and _frustrated, guilty,_ “Pretty words won’t fix what happened or who he is now, for either of them.”

“No,” she agrees, and he looks back. She stares up at him, brows lowered. “But it will help if he _understands_. He might blame himself as much as you blame _your_ self, and not talking about what happened keeps us at this standstill. It may have been four years ago, but that time left marks on all of us. And I’m not _blind_ Slade.”

He tenses again, fingers curling where she can’t see.

“I know there was something between you two,” she continues, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure Oliver’s asleep, or at least looks it, before looking back. She steps close, gripping his bicep. “I don’t know what it was, or if you two talked, but if you still feel anything for him, _use it_. We need all the help we can get.” She pulls away and heads back to the table and the tablet Smoak left on it from their last visit, hopping up and sitting cross legged on the tabletop before pulling the tablet onto her lap.

He stares after her a moment and then looks over at the cage where Oliver’s sleeping, the kid’s head tilted away and- scar exposed. Slade drags his eyes away, looking down at the floor before walking over and taking up sentry on the chair again.

He wanted to find the kid, but now that he’s got what he wanted, he doesn’t-

He clenches his jaw.

He doesn’t know what to do. Before it was a nebulous, if pointed idea: capture Oliver, find out what’s going on. Now they’ve captured him, they know what’s going on, and it’s not something saying a few words is going to change. Oliver’s set on doing what he’s doing, has been convinced it’s what he needs to do, and none of them have ever had much success in changing his mind once it’s been made up.

Slade settles in to wait, either for Oliver to wake up again or for the words he needs to say to magically appear.

\--

He hears a car park out front after a while and signals Shado with a few fingers. She grabs her bag and takes the stairs up, giving him a pointed look as she passes. He watches her go before looking back to the cage, brows lowering. He hears steps after a few minutes and looks over sharply, a little surprised to find Diggle stepping down into the basement.

“I’m here to relieve you,” Diggle says quietly, glancing briefly at the cage. Slade shakes his head and Diggles studies him for a moment, looking at the cage again, then back. “You might not be able to reach him.”

“ _I know_ ,” Slade bites out, voice hard.

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try,” Diggle finishes. Slade studies him and Diggle gives his wide shoulders a shrug. “He’s your brother, right?” Slade stares and Diggle shrugs again, looking back to the cage. “Or something. If I had the chance, I’d want to reach my brother.”

“You’re offering advice?” Slade asks instead of answering.

Diggle snorts quietly, turning back for the stairs. “Yeah, don’t get used to it. You’re still an asshole.” He heads up and Slade watches him go, and then he and Oliver are left alone in the quiet.

His eyes find their way back to the cage, to Oliver leaning against the bars, head lowered and eyes closed. The same guilt and shame that’s been kicking him in the chest since putting Oliver in there, before that, rears its head and _squeezes_. It was the only way to hold him, outside of chaining him to something, but all Slade can see is the cages on the Amazo, Oliver a prisoner again but this time under Slade’s own hand and the League’s under that, instead of Ivo’s.

He rubs a few fingers against the back of the metal chair, debating himself in circles before finally clenching his jaw and pushing himself up, slowly walking over. Oliver’s eyes crack open a little and green shift his way before they close again. Oliver lowers his head back like it takes effort, letting it loll a little in a gap between bars.

“You going to talk now?” he asks.

Slade’s fingers curl. He crouches down and looks at him.

There’s a light sweat on his forehead, his neck, Oliver’s lips parted a little and dry, not-quite cracked. His hair’s starting to look a little greasy at the roots, his ponytail looser and hanging more towards the base of his neck than the middle of the back of his head, dirty blonde strands flying almost every which way. His hair was long on the island, but now it seems like it’s everywhere. Slade can see the scar better up this close, a little jagged, but mostly clean from how sharp he’d gotten his blade, until it disappears down into Oliver’s black turtleneck. He wonders how far down it goes, how much damage he did. He wasn’t in the state to know at the time, just that he thought he’d hit the artery, which he apparently had.

“How are you alive?” Slade asks quietly.

Oliver’s eyes crack open again, flicking towards him, then off somewhere to his left, then straight ahead.

Is he seeing things?

Oliver doesn’t say anything, just clears his throat quietly and closes his eyes.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Slade says, fingers curling again, “But I want you to listen.” Oliver’s eyes slant his way again. “I’m-...” He swallows, closes his eyes for a moment before forcing them back open and the words out, “ _I’m sorry_.” Oliver blinks slowly, watching him. “I’m sorry, for the mirakuru, for what I did to you. I wasn’t in control of my blade.”

Oliver looks away, closes his eyes, brows furrowing a little. He’s quiet for a time, and then, “I stabbed you in the eye,” he says quietly, sounds like he forces it out.

“And I nearly killed you,” Slade replies, latching onto the response. He wasn’t expecting Oliver to say much of anything. “I healed. You would have died.” It doesn’t make any of it okay, but of the two of them, Oliver was the one out of control at the time, and Slade nearly killed him when he lashed out. Oliver was _his_ responsibility, and Slade knew Oliver was losing it. He should have dropped his sword.

Oliver looks down at the floor, mouth twisting down at the corner. “You think talking will help? I didn’t take you for naive.”

“I can’t do much more than talk,” Slade replies, “Which isn’t exactly my strong suit. I think you and Shado both know that, but she can be as stubborn as you are.” Oliver snorts, faint and derisive. Slade watches him for a long minute, the way Oliver’s eyes flick this way and that. He’s seeing something, maybe more than one. “What are you seeing, kid?”

Oliver glares over at him, then closes his eyes, staying stubbornly quiet.

Slade lowers himself to the floor, crossing his legs. “I see Billy,” he makes himself say. Oliver’s eyes crack open. “I see you.” Green stay focused on the floor and Slade continues. “You both tell me things I already know, things I’ll never forget for the rest of my life, things I deserve to hear for what I’ve done. You blame me for your dying.” He watches Oliver watch the floor. “For not being here with your family.”

They’re quiet for a minute, two.

“Do you ever wish we never met?” Oliver asks, so quiet even Slade can barely hear him, a whisper through the cracks of ‘Al Sah-him’.

“Sometimes,” he answers quietly, “If we hadn’t, things would’ve ended sooner, one way or another.” Oliver presses his lips together and Slade takes a slow breath. “I think both of us died on that boat.” Part of him wanted to, could feel the mirakuru in his veins, in his head. Part of him still wants to.

Oliver swallows a little. “Oliver Queen survived, barely,” he says, almost a whisper, “But I am Al Sah-him now, of the League of Assassins.” He sits up a little straighter, leaning back more against the bars. “I have to kill Thea and Moira Queen. It’s the only-” he swallows again, brows lowering as he closes his eyes, a little more sweat gathering at his brow. He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head against something Slade can’t hear. “It’s the only way,” Oliver says firmly, roughly, breathing picking up a little, “If I do this, there will be nothing left tying anyone to the source of Oliver Queen. He will be completely dead, and it will all be over. Only The Arrow will remain.”

“And then what?” Slade asks after a beat, and Oliver’s eyes open again, shifting over. “Even if you kill them, that doesn’t erase who you are. It never will. It didn’t with me and Billy.” Oliver looks away. “I killed the godfather to my son, and I have to live with that. You can call yourself something else, you can change yourself as much as you want, but even if you bury everything you were under something else, it’s still there. _You’re_ the one who taught me that.”

Oliver’s brows lower. “I was a stupid kid who didn’t know better,” he grits out, “Who thought a little good in the world would keep us all human, and _look_ at where we are, _what_ we are. I’m a monster, and this is the path I’ve chosen, not the one my father set out for me, that Fyer’s tried torturing out of me, that Yao Fei tried to lead me to, that _you_ did. This is what _I’ve_ chosen, the only path left.”

“Then you’re just as stupid as you always were,” Slade returns, and Oliver’s jaw clenches as he looks over sharply. “We made our own way on the island, we make our own way after it. I don’t buy that killing your only remaining family is your choice,” he continues, “You’re here on _orders_ , you said so yourself, and it’s to become the new _Ra’s,_ which you apparently didn’t know. Stop kidding yourself into thinking any of this was your choice. It was _his_.”

“It _wasn’t_ ,” Oliver growls back, sweat beading at his temples. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head sharply. “I _chose_ to join the League, I made every choice up to this point. I-”

“ _Really?_ ” Slade demands, and Oliver snaps his mouth shut. “And why does Sara get to live in all this? Is that your choice too? She knew you before the wreck, and compared to your mother and sister, she’s covered in as much blood as we are.”

“I-” Oliver stops, eyes searching the floor.

“Did you even fucking think about it?” Slade keeps going, gesturing sharply with a hand, anger building at Oliver, at this _Ra’s_ , at the League of Assassins for _doing this to him_ , “Or did you just follow orders because it was easier? Shado was right, you throw yourself into worse things just to avoid bad ones. All this, the excuse about being a monster, when really you’re just running away from who and what you are, following the orders of a man you think knows better than you. First it was your father and his book, and now it’s Ra’s al Ghul and the League of Assassins, telling you to murder your family for a reason you didn’t even know. You’ve just traded one father figure in for another to blindly follow and let go of any responsibility you had for yourself because it was easier!”

“ _No!_ ” Oliver shouts back, eyes wide and angry. Oliver grits his teeth, hand coming up to the side of his head as he squeezes his eyes shut. “Shut up! All of you!”

“It’s not real, Oliver!” Slade shouts, “The League? Ra’s? None of it is real!”

“It is!” Oliver shouts back, “Or what did I-” _What did I go through all of it for?_ Oliver questions, fingers curling tight into his hair. Ra’s saved him, gave him new purpose within the League, helped him- _use_ the monster he became and turn it into something that has a _purpose._ If that purpose doesn’t really exist, then what’s- what’s the point of any of this? Of _any_ of what he’s done in the past four years?

He hears steps somewhere outside the clamor of accusing voices in his head: Fyers telling him he’s pathetic, Wintergreen telling him he’s weak, Yao Fei telling him he’s disappointed, Ivo telling him he’s a fool, his father-

Something rattles and he cracks his eyes open, sees the chain and lock from the cage hit the floor with a loud clatter and the makeshift cage door open, eyes trailing up as Slade stalks inside, coming to a looming stop over him. Slade quickly sinks down to one knee and reaches forward, grabs the front of Al Sah-him’s robes and yanks him close.

“ _This_ is real,” Slade grits out, noses almost touching. Slade reaches up and pulls his eyepatch up and off and Al Sah-him- Oliver- stares.

Slade’s eye is there, not gone like he thought, but it’s a smokey off-white, almost blue color. There’s a few small scars directly above it on his eyelid, his lower one, one off to the side of the bottom on the left from-

 _From my arrow_ , he realizes.

“ _This_ _is real_ ,” Slade repeats firmly, fingers curling tighter in the front of his clothes as he gives him a shake, “ _This_ , Oliver. Not the League, not the voices in your head or whatever the fuck you’re seeing, not your father leaving you some shit mission he failed to do himself, not _Ra’s al Ghul_ using you for his own gain. None of that. You, me, and Shado, your sister and your mother, _here_. _Right now_. _We_ are real. When are you going to stop letting yourself be shackled and brainwashed and used like an obedient _pet?_ ”

Al Sah-him’s breath catches in his chest as he stares, throat tightening and fingers curling uselessly.

He’s not-

He’s-

His head is full of static.

His vision swims and he blinks a few times to try to chase away the black spots. His hands start trembling, his arms, his body as his heart struggles to beat harder, faster with adrenaline against the poison in his system. He manages to pull in a ragged breath before his body gives in and his vision goes black.

\-----

“Slade, what happened?” Shado asks urgently as she rushes down the stairs, “We got your text.”

“He’s getting worse,” Slade reports, kneeling inside the cage, fingers pressed to Oliver’s neck while Diggle stands guard at the open cage door. Oliver’s laying flat on the ground, eyes closed and breathing raspy and quick, shallow, body trembling. “He collapsed. He won’t respond and his pulse is getting thready.”

“Sara did say there would be side effects to the poison,” Felicity says quickly, “But are you sure this isn’t some sort of trick? I thought the mirakuru or whatever increased healing.”

Slade looks sharply over at her and she jerks to a stop when she catches sight of his other eye, white and clouded. Slade looks to Shado then back down at Oliver, expression pinching. “We need to take it out.”

“The poison?” Diggle asks, shifting on his feet, “Won’t that just mean he can get out?”

“I’m not killing him again,” Slade grinds out, reaching down and yanking the needle out of the back of Oliver’s hand. He reaches up for Oliver’s jaw, turning his face up. “Kid,” he calls, “Oliver.”

Shado kneels down next to him, reaching a hand for Oliver’s forehead. “I think he has a fever,” she says, brows drawing together, “It’s hard to tell.” She reaches her other hand for Slade’s forehead to compare. “He’s too warm,” she confirms, pulling her hands away and getting up, jogging out of the cage. She comes back with a cold soda can and presses it to Oliver’s forehead. He shudders and sucks in a shaky breath, trying to turn his head away, but she follows him, keeping it pressed. “It’s not much, but it might help,” she says.

“So...what are we going to do?” Felicity asks after a minute, “We have less than a day now.”

Shado’s brows draw together again as she looks over at Slade, who clenches his jaw.

\-----

Al Sah-him blinks his eyes open groggily, tries turning his head and has to squeeze his eyes shut at the vertigo.

“Don’t move,” Shado says, low and soft from his left. He drags his eyes open, looking over and up where she’s kneeling outside the cage, swaying a little in his vision. “I think your body got flooded with adrenaline and couldn’t react like it was trying to because of the poison built up in your system, and it shut down.”

He turns his head a little more, finds Slade sitting in the chair past her, staring at him with both eyes, brows lowered and brown eye conflicted, concerned. They look at each other for a long minute, something twisting deep in his chest, then something shifts nearby and he looks over.

Ivo slowly paces around his cage, trailing his fingers lightly along the metal bars like a child with a stick against a white picket fence. Al Sah-him drags his eyes over at more movement and Billy Wintergreen steps out of the shadows, coming to a slow stop to his right outside the cage. He slowly crouches down, staring at him with dark eyes through his orange and black mask.

“Oliver?” Shado asks, but he doesn’t look over.

“ _Quite the collection you’ve got_ ,” Fyers observes, stepping out of the shadows behind Wintergreen and coming to a stop at Wintergreen’s back left, one hand in his pocket. He smirks, smug, and glances up past Al Sah-him around at the room. “ _You could escape, one way or another_ ,” he observes idly, “ _Choke yourself with that tube, smash your head against the bars. Then again, they’ve removed the poison drip. You’ll be ready to kill your way out in no time._ ”

Al Sah-him drags his eyes away, glancing down at the tube. It’s still tied with his wrist to the bar, but it’s not in the back of his hand anymore.

“ _Sentimental fools,”_ Fyers says lightly, _“Though I think Wilson was right for once and Ra’s pulled a pretty, believable lie over your eyes. That you could do the world **good** , that you could be **useful** , that you could, what was it? ‘Use the monster you’ve become’_.” He scoffs. “ _Pretty words, and you believed them, because regardless of what you want to think, what you want to believe, you are still the weak, pathetic boy that washed up on the shores of Lian Yu. Change your name, change your demeanor all you want, learn as many skills as you can, but you cannot escape that_.” The sound of clothes rustling. “ _You can stand torture, I’ll give you that, but you can’t stand_ -”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Oliver hisses, slips out of his mouth before he can stop it. He immediately presses his lips together, closing his eyes.

“Oliver,” Shado says quietly while Fyers chuckles. The sound of clothes rustling again.

“ _We’re in your head, Mr. Queen_ ,” Fyers taunts, “ _We’re never going away. You couldn’t even focus enough to get past Wilson when you had your chance_.”

Al Sah-him glares back as much as he can, but it’s hard to muster the energy just like he knew it would be. The poison is built up in his system, has made him weak, vulnerable, in more ways than one. They’re right. He couldn’t get past Slade, even-

“ _Those pesky feelings again_ ,” Ivo sing-songs.

“ _Shut up_ ,” Al Sah-him grits out low and rough. He clenches his jaw at his own weakness and forces himself to take a breath to try and steady himself, center the swirling mass of- _everything_ : his guilt, his shame, his weakness, who he was, who he is. Is this all it takes? Four years of training, enduring, surviving, learning, sacrifice, _pain,_ all to be undone by poison and Slade _fucking_ Wilson. He won’t let it come undone because of poison and old ghosts. He is _stronger_ than that.

“ _You think you can power through it_ ,” Slade says above his left shoulder, “ _You think you can **think** us away. Always thinking too much with that full head of yours._ ”

“ _That is not how to defeat them_ ,” Yao Fei cuts in, and Al Sah-him’s eyes open again from where they’ve drifted shut. He’s standing in the green hood across from him in the cage, dark eyes accusing. “ _You weak, for pushing them away. Does not make you stronger. You have forgotten first thing you learned, first thing you taught_.” Yao Fei crouches, bow in his hand brushing the cement floor. Brown eyes bore into his, the same shade as Shado’s. Al Sah-him tries to look away, can’t. “ _You stronger together than apart_.”

He squeezes his eyes shut.

 _No_ , he thinks, _**No,** I’m stronger **alone**_.

A scoff, clothes rustling. He cracks his eyes open and looks up to find Yao Fei standing, eyes disappointed. He shakes his head and disappears between one blink and the next and Oliver’s throat tightens. He closes his eyes again, swallows past it.

 _My fault_ , he thinks, _Never again_.

“ _You say that like it hasn’t already happened_ ,” Slade accuses, over his other shoulder now, “ _You swore you would never hurt your family, be the cause of their pain again, that you would use the monster you’ve become to help the world, and now you’re hunting them. It was just another lie you told yourself._ ”

“ _Shut up_ ,” he growls out, jaw clenched.

“ _You failed_ ,” Slade growls out, “ _You failed_ -”

“ _Me_ ,” Robert Queen finishes, and Oliver blinks his eyes back open, staring up, mouth open a little. His heart twists in his chest, gives an irregular beat.

“You’re not real,” he forces out, “ _You’re not real_.”

“ _What happened to you, son?_ ” Robert asks.

“ _He turned himself into a monster_ ,” Slade cuts in.

“I was already a monster,” Al Sah-him replies.

“Oliver-”

“ _He’s right about that_.” Ivo.

“ _Who knew he’d still be so weak after all that_ ,” Fyers observes idly.

“ _Should’ve died_ ,” Wintergreen bites out low.

“ _You forget yourself_.” Yao Fei.

“Oliver!”

“ _SHUT UP!_ ” he shouts, lunging up. He hears the sound of metal tearing and a shout before everything-

\-----

_4 Years Ago_

_Nanda Parbat, League of Assassins_

_He shouts as a sword goes through his gut, staggering back after it’s yanked out._

_“You cannot avoid pain,” Ra’s says, flicking his blade and sending Oliver’s blood in a streak up the training floor, “You must learn to accept and overcome it. Only then will you be free and find what you seek.”_

_Oliver glares up at him, teeth gritted and hand pressed to his abdomen. His grip trembles around the hilt of his own sword and he tightens it, trying not to crush the metal. “Is this the only way?” he demands._

_“I have lived well past my lifetime,” Ra’s says, lifting his sword, “And I have found only one truth for pain: It is like the vast ocean. You overcome it, or you drown. Choose, Al Sah-him. Swim, or die.”_

_‘The Arrow’, Oliver mentally translates, giving his head a short, hard shake, ponytail shifting against the back of his sweaty neck. He is not Oliver anymore, Oliver is dead, Oliver was weak. Oliver couldn’t do anything without putting everyone in harm’s way. This way-_

_He slowly straightens, lowering his hand from his knitting wound and raising his own sword, brows lowered._

_This way he will never be forced into impossible situations again, no situation that he cannot make his own way out of. He makes his own life, his own choices, and he will not be forced under another’s heel again, not even pain’s. This way, he can use the monster he is to maybe do some **good**. If the only way to do that is...this, if the only way out is through, he’ll have to go through._

_“Come,” Ra’s orders, and he runs, slashing down._

_\--_

_“I have a gift for you,” Ra’s says at the end of their session. Oliver looks up, panting and sweaty, pushing his growing bangs out of his face._

_“What is it?” he asks._

_Ra’s sheaths his sword and steps out into the hall and Al Sah-him follows, setting his sword on the rack on the way. He follows Ra’s down a maze of halls, ones he’s still memorizing, but he’s getting there. Now he knows what’s left and what’s right at the next split, but not what’s left beyond that. They keep going past it, turn right, and then Ra’s stops at a door, knocking once. It opens and Nyssa is there, and Ol- Al Sah-him remembers to bow his head courteously at the last minute. He looks back up when she steps aside, revealing-_

_“ **Sara?** ” he lets out, stilling, heart beating faster and breath catching. She turns around, gold hair washing in waves over her shoulders in the warm light. She looks okay, uninjured, clean, **healthy**._

_“Ollie!” she returns, rushing forward and throwing her arms around him. “They said you were alive, that you were healing!” She pulls back, gripping his arms, “Are you okay?” Her hand moves up, fingers hoving over the scar on his cheek, down his neck and the side of his bare chest, eyebrows drawing up. “Oh, Ollie.”_

_“I-” he cuts himself off, conflicted. He thought she was dead. He thought-_

_His eyes dart over to Ra’s who’s already watching him, hands at his back. It’s been a week, Ra’s has kept her a secret and let him think she was dead for a **week**. Al Sah-him drags his eyes away, forcing whatever he’s feeling about that down. Right now-_

_He wraps his arms around Sara and pulls her close, gradually tightening his grip and making himself stop when she lets out a quiet sound against the side of his neck. “Sorry,” he mutters against her shoulder._

_**Don’t crush her** , part of him whispers, **Don’t you dare hurt her**._

_**But it is your choice to do so** , another whispers, sounds a lot like Ra’s, **You have that choice now. You will never be without choice again**._

_He closes his eyes, burying his face in her hair._

_This doesn’t change anything, but for a minute, he lets himself be Oliver Queen again. Just for one minute, he lets himself be weak._

\--

_He keeps training, keeps enduring the pain, slowly inches his way past it one gruelling training session at a time, inflicts his own. Sara watches him for a week, eyes concerned at first, before they quickly shift. She’s a survivor like he is, maybe more than he is; she knows._

_She starts joining him in his sessions, and then Nyssa takes up position as her mentor and they all train. For the first time in a while, he feels...like he’s moving towards something. He still doesn’t trust Ra’s, not after what he did with Sara, but it feels like he’s more than the blood on his hands, the voices in his head. The training helps him focus, tune them out, and he feels- useful, so much more than he did on the island._

_He advances in the arts of swordsmanship, archery, bo staff, hand to hand, poisons, more things than he knew his body was capable of. The hallucinations slowly fade. They don’t disappear completely, but the more focused he is on his mission, the more they come and go instead of linger around him like accusing shadows. He sees Yao Fei and Slade less, has stopped seeing his father altogether._

_He throws himself into his training, tries to drown them out completely, until one day he looks in the mirror of his room bathroom after splashing water on his face,_ _and instead of seeing the fading sliver of Oliver Queen in his eyes, only Al Sah-him’s green ones stare back._

_\--_

_“Al Sah-him. This is who you are now.”_

_“Al Sah-him.”_

_“Al Sah-him.”_

_“Oliver Queen is no more.”_

_“From this day forward, you are-”_

_“Al Sah-him.”_

_“The Arrow.”_

\-----

Al Sah-him comes back to himself standing on a rooftop in the rain, panting and staring out at Starling City. His clothes are soaked but light, barely anything, but there’s an impossible weight in his chest dragging him down.

The last thing he remembers is- all the voices, and Shado’s voice, the sound of metal tearing.

He slowly lifts his hands and looks down, watches dark blood wash away in the rain and swallows as his body trembles, head strangely empty.

_What did I do?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some doodles I did trying to figure out Al Sah-him's hair (bc his buzzcut is horrible and I'm not having it). Sorry for the size;
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	13. Drove a thorn like a nail in my side till it shattered, shattered like glass

Felicity slows as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, eyes darting around. “What...happened? And where’s Oliver?”

“He got out,” Shado groans, rolling over so her face isn’t pressed into the wall anymore, slowly sitting up and pressing a hand to the side of her head.

“ _Oh my god_ , are you okay?” Felicity asks, rushing over, sidestepping and stepping over the scattered beams and bars littered across the floor. She crouches down and pulls a package of tissues out of her bag, offering them to Shado and wincing at the blood streaming down her temple. “He did all this?”

Shado takes the tissue with a soft, “Thanks,” pressing one to her temple and looking around. “Yes, but he didn’t seem like himself. He was...”

“Where’s Wilson?” Diggle asks, gun drawn and eyes taking in the room. They land on the broken window at the other end of the room past the table, water falling loud beyond it now that the sound isn’t buffered by the glass. “Went after him?”

“Yes,” Shado answers, slowly getting to her feet. She hisses a little and looks back over her shoulder, rolling it a little. “Oliver threw me into a wall. The last thing I remember was Slade yelling something and Oliver...taking off?” she asks hesitantly, pulling the tissue away and grimacing at the blood before pulling out another, pressing it to her temple in its place. “I’m pretty sure Slade went after him.”

“I need to go check on the Queen family,” Diggle says urgently, “Are you two good here until I get back?”

“Go,” Shado waves him off and he holsters his gun, running up the stairs and out of the basement.

“So he wasn’t himself, huh?” Felicity asks after a moment, eyes wide behind her glasses as she takes in the damage, the flipped over chair, the steel beams that look like they were crushed ( _crushed!_ ) with bare hands, the long streak of claw marks and holes _in_ the cement down towards the window. It looks like something _exploded_ out of the cage, only half of it still standing, some of the bars bent and twisted outwards like something from _Jurassic Park_. She shudders a little. “Think it was the poison or the mirakuru?”

“I don’t know,” Shado replies, limping over to the table and slowly lowering herself down into the chair there, “He looked at me but I didn’t see any recognition, like he wasn’t there, like he was having some sort of...episode.” She pulls the tissue away and lets out a sigh when she finds a little less blood on it, pulling out one more and pressing it with a small wince.

“Does Wilson have his phone on him?” Felicity asks, already pulling out her tablet.

“I think so,” Shado replies.

Felicity taps at the screen a few more times and perks up. “Got him. He’s somewhere near the Glades. I’ll try narrowing it down.”

“You have his number?” Shado asks incredulously.

“I...may have pinged his phone. A while ago. Just in case,” Felicity answers, glancing over.

Shado shakes her head a little, pulling the tissue away to check it before looking back up. “I’m glad you’re on our side.”

\--

“ _Shit_ ,” Slade curses, scanning the rooftops. He pulls his phone out when it buzzes and answers without looking. “ _What?_ ”

“ _Did you find him?_ ” Felicity asks.

“ _No_ ,” he growls out, “I lost him.”

“ _Are you coming back?_ ”

He keeps scanning the roofs, what he can see of the city with the rain in his eyes, but there’s no movement, no silhouettes.

“ _Come back, Slade_ ,” Shado says, sounding weary, “ _There’s nothing more to do tonight_.”

He hangs up with a low growl in his chest, barely restraining himself from crushing the phone in his hand as he turns around.

\--

“Did he take anything?” Felicity asks, looking around, “Not that there’s much _to_ take- Oh,” she pauses.

“What?” Shado asks, looking over.

Felicity bites her lower lip, slowly spinning on her heel and pointing behind her. “Sword’s missing.” Shado sighs, shoulders slumped, and Felicity nods, tapping at her tablet. “I’ll run a program that reports any sword sightings and, or stabbings.”

\-----

“Is that…?” Detective Lance trails off.

“A sword?” Detective Hilton asks, looking over as Lance walks up, “Yes, it is.” They both grimace at where it’s sticking up out of the chest of one of the victims.

Lance looks around, making a face at the mess. “This is a slaughter. Who are the vics?”

“So far?” Hilton asks, looking down at his notepad, “Christopher Brewer, Naomi Smith, Lauren Callahan, David Brodes. Four more still as of yet unidentified.” He looks up, shaking his head. “Just a group a friends coming out of a bar after a gettogether. It’s starting to seem like wrong place-wrong time.”

“We catch anything on that?” Lance asks, nodding his head up to the security camera at the top right of the bar entrance.

“Kelton’s already on it,” Hilton replies, pocketing his notebook, “What are you thinking? The vigilante? There _is_ a sword.”

“But not the one we’ve caught him using,” Lance replies, brows drawn low and mouth a flat line. “I don’t know yet,” he adds after a minute of looking around, at the the blood soaking the sidewalk, out into the street, splattering up the bar’s windows and the sides of the cars parked at the curb, at the bodies laying haphazardly everywhere, eyes open and sightless. He shakes his head, doing another slow circle. “I don’t know.”

\--

“Police just got a hit,” Felicity reports. Slade stands up out of his crouch, black quiver full of arrows and bow in his hands. “It’s being reported as a massacre…” she trails off, brows drawn together, worried eyes looking up, “Why would he kill them?”

“Kid wasn’t in his right head,” Slade replies, walking over to Shado. He sets the quiver and bow on the table, looking down at her. She looks up from where she’s sat in the chair, massaging her sore leg. She nods and he turns, grabbing his jacket up off the end of the table.

“Going to try and look for him?” Felicity asks.

“Well we’re not doing much good here,” he replies roughly, heading for the stairs, “He might try and go after his family.” 

He disappears up out the door and Felicity watches after him for a moment before looking to Shado. “What should we do about this place?”

“What do you mean?” Shado sighs, digging her thumb a little harder into a particularly sore spot in her leg with a pinched expression before blowing out a slow breath.

“Well, no one’s using this place, still. We could fix up the window and turn it into a, I don’t know, base of operations maybe?” Shado looks up and raises an eyebrow and Felicity shrugs. “I’m tired of everyone convening in my apartment.”

Shado huffs quietly and looks back down, releasing her leg and turning to look at the black bow and quiver. She picks up the bow, testing the drawstring, half surprised to find she can pull it back. It hasn’t been augmented for Oliver’s strength, but she supposes that makes sense. He’s more _useful_ if he can use any weapon without crushing it. 

She sets it back down on the table with a frown. “I’m only here for Oliver and Slade,” she says, looking over at Felicity. Felicity hops up onto the table, swinging her legs a little over the side.

“I looked you up when Slade mentioned he was on the island with other people,” she starts, tilting her head a little, “Said you were at a monastery for a while?”

Shado raises a brow again and Felicity shrugs just a little sheepishly. Shado slowly leans back in the chair, careful of her side, and sighs quietly. “After the island and my father dying, when I got back, I found my sister first,” she starts, gaze going distant off towards the window at the other end, “It’s funny, the whole time I was on the island I missed my bed, but when I got home, I couldn’t stand sleeping in it. I slept on the floor for almost a month.” 

Felicity frowns a little, eyes turning sad.

“I was not a good sister,” Shado continues quieter, “I’d have nightmares almost every night, the littlest sounds would set me on edge. I almost put a knife to my sister’s throat when she tried waking me one morning.” Felicity’s worrying her lower lip when Shado looks over and Shado’s lips twist a little ruefully. “I thought it best if I leave, try to get myself together again. For all that the island was horrible, it became home in a way. I didn’t feel at home in our house. I saw traces of our father everywhere, all the places he no longer filled. It was different from when he was missing, because I knew for certain he was never coming back.” 

Shado looks down, closes her eyes and takes a slow breath before opening them again. “The monastery helped,” she continues, “I still wasn’t quite ready to come back, but I was in town and saw the report about the ‘vigilante in Starling City’. I’d recognize Slade anywhere. I wasn’t sure about the archer until I asked him when I got here, but it seemed too much a coincidence to not suspect. If Slade and I could survive the island, it was possible Oliver could have as well. And now...here we are.”

They’re quiet for a minute, and then Felicity slowly reaches over, hesitantly placing a hand on her shoulder. Shado’s eyes dart up and Felicity smiles. “We’ll get him back,” she reassures softly, “With you and Slade going after him, I don’t have a lot of doubt about that.”

Shado manages a small smile in return. “You and Diggle have been a great help, Felicity,” she says sincerely, “And while I know Slade probably hasn’t been the easiest to work with, I am glad he has been getting help from someone.”

Felicity makes a sound in the back of her throat, rolling her eyes as she pulls her hand away. “I think he works better alone.”

“Too well,” Shado agrees, drawing Felicity’s eyes back. Shado sighs and looks down at the bow and quiver. “He changed after we arrived, from what Oliver told me. I only saw some of it, but he gradually became more...open, trusting. I can see it happening again, little by little. He’s like...” she trails off in thought.

“A puppy that’s been kicked one too many times?” Felicity supplies. Shado’s eyebrows climb a little and Felicity shrugs. “He does have a kicked puppy-ish look about him, when he gets sad.” She looks away, then darts her eyes back. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

Shado laughs quietly, shoulders relaxing a little more.

\-----

Al Sah-him catches the sound of steps, a faint splash in a puddle and lifts his head, resting it back against the damp brick. He slants his eyes over to find Ta-er al-Sahfer watching him against the backdrop of the clear night sky, stars silhouetting her dark shape above the city lights. She keeps her hood raised but tugs her half mask down below her chin.

“Ollie,” she says quietly. He narrows his eyes and she sighs quietly.

They regard one another for a long minute before he finally drags his eyes away, staring out at the city with his back to the wall and his forearms resting on his raised knees. Now that he’s finally coming down from the effects of the poison, he can...think clearer. The voices have quieted down, he’s only been seeing Slade, Ivo, and Yao Fei slowly pacing the edge of the roof he’s sitting on off and on. They haven’t said much, nothing more than usual, and it’s easier to ignore them now. His body’s still trembling a little, but the shaking has mostly subsided. He’s still missing the gap of time between the cage and finding himself on a rooftop.

“You helped them capture and drug me,” he says, deadly soft.

“Do you know why?” she asks.

“Sentimentality,” he grouses, “I should kill you for it.”

“That’s _why_ ,” she says emphatically, and he glances back up at her, “Ollie, you’ve changed. I’ve been there every step, through almost every trial, and I’ve watched us both turn into something we- we didn’t know what we were getting into.” His lips tug down and she sighs quietly, looking out at the city. “I looked up my family on your laptop after you left,” she continues, “I tried not to, but it made me realize- I barely recognize myself, and it’s even worse when I look at you.” She looks back and his brow furrows. “Ollie, Ra’s told you to kill your family, and you were going to. As much as I’ve changed, I can barely stomach the thought of doing that to my own family. I could never- that’s not something I could ever do. You value family as much as I do, after the island even more so, and the fact that you’re willing to kill Thea, kill Moira because Ra’s _told_ you to?” She shakes her head and something like...shame twists low in his gut. 

He looks down between his knees at the cement, taking a slow breath. “You sound like Slade,” he says, low and quiet.

“Yeah, well maybe that’s because he’s right,” she replies.

His fingers curl into fists and he looks to the side out at the city again. “I’m not who I was. I don’t- I _can’t be_ who I was. If I don’t do this, I’m dead. Even if I do…” Maybe he’s dead either way, in more ways than one. Nyssa won’t relinquish her place as heir, and he doesn’t even want it. He just wanted to be of use to Ra’s, to himself, to everyone, that’s how this all started. How did he get here?

“I don’t know if you can be or not,” Sara says, breaking him out of his thoughts, “I don’t know if either of us can, but don’t we owe it to our families to try? Haven’t they suffered enough, Ollie? Haven’t we? Even if they never see us again, we owe it to them, to ourselves.” 

They’re quiet for a few minutes, then her soft steps move closer and she takes a seat down next to him, resting her back against the wall too. It’s surreal, being back here with her, in the place they were born and raised and that their old families still think they’re dead in.

“We can’t go back to being exactly who we were, that’s impossible,” she says, “But that doesn’t mean we can’t be _more_ like we were. We lost our humanity somewhere along the way. I think you more than me, in some ways.” She leans over a little and rests her shoulder against his and he closes his eyes, doesn’t know why, but the backs of them sting a little and his throat tightens.

 _Weakness_ , Ra’s voice says in his head.

“Emotions are frowned upon in the League,” he says quietly, voice a little rough, “Ra’s thinks your relationship with Nyssa makes her weak. That’s why he did this.” It’s not hard to put that together.

“Then he’s a fool,” she says, so casually, and he looks over sharply. She looks up at him, lips curled up a little. “We give each other another reason to keep going, something to fight to come home to,” she says, small smile turning sad. She reaches up and brushes the backs of her gloved knuckles along his stubbled cheek, across the scar. “What reasons do you have?”

“I don’t need one,” he forces out of his closing throat. He swallows, shaking his head a little. “I am ‘The Arrow’, weapons don’t feel.”

“Then why are you crying?” she asks, so gentle and soft. He blinks and feels it then, then feels her knuckles brush the moisture away. He closes his eyes, lowering his head a little and giving it another, harder shake, fingers curling.

“ _No_ ,” he forces out through gritted teeth.

“It’s not weakness, Ollie,” Sara says softly, “Emotions aren’t _prohibited_. You’re allowed to _feel_.”

“I don’t _want_ _to!_ ” he lets out, forcing himself away, to his feet, the edge of the roof, looking down at the alley below. He takes a breath, closing his eyes against the confession, fists tight at his sides.

 _Running away_ , something whispers down deep, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Even Ra’s is human, Ollie,” Sara says. The faint sound of her getting to her own feet. “What are you so afraid of?”

He opens his eyes, searches the alley pavement below, the metal dumpster, the wet newspaper half draped over a gutter rail in the ground.

“ _What are you so afraid of?_ ”

He clenches his jaw and drops over the edge, landing in a crouch at the bottom and taking off into the dark.

\-----

“Are you alright, Thea?” Laurel asks, snapping her out of her daze, “You’ve been spacing off at the wall for, _oooh_ , about the last five minutes.”

“Sorry,” Thea replies quickly, dropping her eyes back to the files on the desk, “My mom’s just been...acting weird.”

“Weird?” Laurel asks, setting her file down.

“Yeah. Some man came over the other night. I don’t know who he was or what he said to her, but I heard her crying, and when I asked, she _once again_ told me ‘everything was alright’.” She sighs, rolling her eyes. “I swear if I have to hear her say that one more time I’m going to _lose it_.”

“Maybe he was a campaign investor?” Laurel asks, brows furrowed.

“I don’t know,” Thea sighs, dropping back in her chair, rocking with the force a little before it settles, “I asked Walter about it but he doesn’t know either.”

“Well, I’m not sure what to tell you other than to keep an eye out for the guy if he stops by at your house again,” Laurel says, gathering the files spread out across her desk and putting them in a stack off to the side. “For now, we’re done for the evening. Need a ride home?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Thea says, tidying her own stack before getting up, “I wasn’t supposed to come by this late so my regular guard isn’t waiting out front, but the substitute still knows how to drive.”

Laurel smiles a little and nods, walking out with her, flicking the last of the lights off as they go. Laurel pulls her keys out of her bag and locks the front C.N.R.I. doors before turning to Thea. “Alright. Be careful. And see you tomorrow?”

Thea nods with a, “Yup,” hands stuffed in her pockets.

Laurel smiles again and looks both ways before crossing the street to her car, and Thea spins around on her heel to the sound of a car door opening behind her, sighing when the bodyguard - Jason? Mason? Something - opens the backdoor for her.

“I think I might walk over and grab a quick coffee before they close for the night,” she says thoughtfully, jerking a thumb back over her shoulder at the warm lights still on in the shop, “Wait here?” The guard nods and she smiles a little. “Want anything?”

“No, Ma’am. Thank you,” he replies formally.

She nods and turns, checking both ways before jogging across the street, glancing over to make sure Laurel’s car is heading away. “Good, because I’m not actually getting anything,” she mutters to herself, heading into the coffee shop and straight through, out the back, sneaking past the few staff still lingering inside.

\--

“This is a _real_ smart idea, Thea,” she mutters to herself, crouching down at the edge of the roof and peering over the raised ledge, “Camp out on a roof near the Glades, hope you spot the vigilante so you can ask why he keeps messing with your family, hope the pepper spray in your pocket is enough to ward off any possible muggers. Just _great_.” 

To be fair, she’s been _gradually_ working her way up to the Glades, so she wasn’t exactly in danger before, persay. But it’s been quiet the past few nights, no vigilante activity in the city proper, so...closer to the Glades it is. Besides, she ditched her bodyguard tonight so he’s going to come looking for her. If something happens, she’ll have backup. Eventually. Probably.

“Just great,” she berates herself again. At least it’s still Summer so she won’t have to worry about being cold, even with the rain earlier.

She sighs, digging her phone out after ten minutes and checking the local news. There’s no reports of the vigilante there either, so she moves on to the forum posts about him. There’s some speculation about if it’s a man or woman, where he’s from, why he’s here, if he was born here or travels, if he’s former military or something else, _yada yada yada_. There’s even a post claiming it’s a relative of theirs.

She snorts. “Yeah right,” she mutters, scrolling down. A scuff at her back left makes her head snap up and she turns, slowly rising to her feet when the roof door bangs open and a few guys come out, light spilling out behind them and hiding their features while they laugh.

“No, I’m telling you. It was like- Oh, _hey_ , what do we have here,” one says, sounds around her age if she had to guess, maybe a little older. She tenses, eyes darting between the three of them.

“This is our spot. Beat it!” another barks out.

“Now, now, that’s no way to talk to a lady,” the first one says, voice curving up with a smile while he holds an arm out in front of the one at the right. “What are _you_ doing in a place like this?”

The second one scoffs, gesturing at her with an arm. “ _Really?_ She's barely filled out.”

Thea’s hackles bristle, the growing fear sinking below the anger. “ _Hey_. _She_ is _right here_.”

“Oh, we know,” the first one replies, and she swallows, fingers curling around her phone. She taps a few buttons blind, backing up when they step forward. 

The door bangs shut behind them and it takes her eyes a few moments to adjust. The first one is taller than the other two, a black beanie over his head with two white stripes, a dark red jersey hanging off his lanky frame over his jeans. The second one is bigger, wider, in white and black with a black hat and jeans. The third is the shortest, shoulders hunched in a dark blue hoodie, hands in the front pockets and staring off to the side like he’s bored, brown hair hanging down beneath his beanie.

“Wanna hang with us?” the first one asks, stepping forward away from the other two. The second one scoffs again, looking off to the side before digging his phone out and focusing on it instead, glow from the screen lighting up his face.

“I think I’d better just go home,” Thea replies, eyes darting between the three of them, “I just remembered, I’m late for dinner.” She makes to walk past them and the first one grabs her arm in a tight grip, jerking her to a stop. She tries yanking it out of his hold as she reaches into her pocket for the pepper spray but he grabs her other arm, smirking down at her. 

“Now don’t be like that,” he coos, “It’s not often we run into a girl stupid enough to come up here.”

“ _Let. Go of me_ ,” she says low in warning, heart beating rabbit quick.

“Ooo, feisty,” the guy jabs back, pulling her closer. She stumbles a little, trying to recoil-

There’s a grunt and then a _thud_ behind him and she gets up on her toes, trying to look over his shoulder, around it while he looks back with a, “What?” They both freeze when a man in black twists the second’s neck, the body dropping with a heavier thud and phone hitting the cement with a plastic clatter, glow from the screen streaming up to the stars. The man in black turns towards them, a hood up and covering half his face, head angled low so she can’t see much of it, but something about the lower half of his face looks almost familiar, so-

“Hey, man!” the guy holding her shouts, shoving her away. Thea stumbles back, nearly ends up falling but catches her ballance just as something taps the back of her calf. She glances back, sees the alley four stories below and swallows, head spinning a little. She drags her eyes forward, slowly stepping away from the raised ledge. The guy runs at the man in black, pocket knife raised and the man in black blocks it with his forearm, quickly sweeping the guy’s arm down and up, forcing the blade into his own neck. She covers her mouth with a hand to the sound of the guy choking, can just make out dark blood gurgling past his lips before he falls backwards, landing on the roof next to the other two with wide eyes. The man in black turns towards her and she jerks her hand out in front of her to try and ward him off, raising her phone in the other.

“Stay back!” she orders, “I already called the police! They’re on their way!” He takes a slow step forward and she tries backing up, jerking to a stop when she feels the ledge again, swaying a little. The man stops and she does too, watching him. She can feel his eyes on her and she shudders a little, heart beating fast from the adrenaline, making her body shake. “You’re the Archer, aren’t you,” she says, because now that she’s looking at him closer, he _looks_ like the guy from that footage from the forums, minus the bow and arrows and sword.

He doesn’t say anything, just keeps standing there like a statue, and she shudders a little again. He just saved her, but…

“Are you going to kill me?” she asks shakily. She swallows. His head lifts a fraction but she doesn’t know if that’s a yes or a no or-

He takes a step forward and she scrambles back, letting out a surprised sound when she tips back over the ledge. For a brief moment, she feels like an idiot. _God_ , she’s going to die because she was an _idiot_ -

The man runs towards her and she squeezes her eyes shut, letting out another surprised sound when something hits her, feels an arm wrap around her waist as her eyes fly open, looking up. They go weightless for a moment and then land with barley a jostle and she stares up, sees a black...ribbon thing connected to the edge of the roof where she just was, eyes trailing down it to the man-

She freezes, heart skipping a beat.

“ _Ollie…?_ ” she breathes, staring up under the hood.

Green eyes stare back down, hard and angry with a scar down his cheek, but she’d recognize his face anywhere.

He lets go of the ribbon and shoves her away hard and she hits the side of a dumpster with a hollow _thud_ and half-shout, pain reverberating up her back and the back of her head. She drops to her knees and reaches for the back of her head as she gets her eyes open, quickly scanning the alley, but- He’s gone.

 _I’m not seeing things_ , she tells herself firmly, wincing at the headache she can already feel starting to pound at her skull, _That was Ollie_.

\--

He runs and runs and runs, keeps running, teeth gritted against the anger and heart beating hard with adrenaline.

 _I was going to kill her_ , he thinks, over and over and over, _I was going to kill her. Why did I save her?_

_“Ollie!” Thea shouts, running into his room, brown curls bouncing._

_“Thea?!” he lets out, blinking in surprise when she comes bounding up and hops onto his bed._

_“Come read to me?!” she begs, crawling up and pushing at his shoulder with both of her small hands, “Dad’s at work. Mom’s busy. **Pleeeease?** ” She puts her chin on her hands on his shoulder and blinks her big hazel eyes up at him._

_“ **Thea** ,” he whines, quickly turning his head away, “Put those puppy eyes away. They won’t work on me!”_

_“They work on you the most!” she says happily, and he mock-groans._

_“ **Fine** ,” he sighs, but he’s smiling. He looks back over and scoops her up as he stands, grinning at the sound of her laugh. “Which story?”_

_“I put the book on the bed!” she announces proudly, and he laughs._

His breath hitches and he stumbles to a stop, dropping his hands to his knees as he bends over. His throat goes tight and he tries to swallow, force it down, letting out a frustrated growl when his eyes sting.

“ _Weak_ ,” Ra’s voice whispers in his head.

“ _Human_ ,” Sara’s echoes.


	14. Of all creatures that breathe and move upon the earth, nothing is bred that is weaker than man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have 0 chill

Thea trails up the steps to her house’s front doors, reaching for the right handle. She pauses, takes another breath, and twists it, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

“- _I hired you to watch my daughter and you_ -” her mother’s voice cuts off as it approaches, “ _Thea!_ ” Her mother hurries over and Thea’s swept up into her arms, grunting quietly when her mother’s grip goes too tight. Moira quickly pulls back, gently gripping her arms. “Thea, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Moira’s expression darkens. “You haven’t seen the vigilante again have you?”

Thea stares at her, thoughts going a mile a minute, hammered around by the headache while simultaneously still, stuck on Ollie’s angry face, the past couple days of her mother acting so strange, distracted and distant, the crying. It all makes sense now.

“Mom, is Ollie alive?” she asks hollowly.

“ _What?_ ” Moira asks, shaking her head a little, “Thea, what do you mean?”

“ _Is. Ollie. Alive?_ ” she repeats firmly.

“Thea, I don’t-”

Thea throws her arms out, forcing her way out of her mother’s grip. “You’ve been acting strange the past couple days and I just saw him tonight!”

Moira’s expression freezes, just for a second, but it’s there. Her eyes dart to the bodyguard at her back left then back, rapid, search Thea’s face. “...Come with me,” she says quietly, taking Thea’s hand and pulling her into the family room. Moira leads her over to the couch, guiding them both down to sit, knees brushing. Thea pulls her hand out of her mother’s and Moira’s expression pinches. Moira looks away, over to the doorways to make sure they’re clear then back to her daughter. “Yes, he’s alive,” she says quietly.

“Why didn’t you-” Thea starts.

“ _Shh, shh_ ,” Moira shushes quickly, glancing to the doorways again. Thea frowns, glancing over her shoulders before looking back.

“Why are you shushing me?” she demands.

“Because it’s not something anyone else knows yet, not outside of three people,” Moira says, voice hushed.

“Who else knows?” Thea demands, lowering her voice, “That man who was here the other night?”

“His name is Mr. Wilson,” Moira answers, “And, yes. He called me not too long ago to tell me that Oliver was with him when he was stranded on an island in the North China Sea, and that-...and that he died.” She swallows, searching Thea’s wide eyes.

“But he _didn’t_ ,” Thea protests, “I _saw_ _him_.”

“No, he didn’t,” Moira agrees, “And that’s what Wilson came here to tell me. Oliver is alive, but he’s not...he’s not exactly Oliver, Thea,” she warns.

“I know,” Thea replies, and Moira straightens a little. Thea drops her eyes to her lap, picking at her nails anxiously. “He saved me from some guys tonight near the Glades,” she finally confesses, “And for a moment I thought-...I thought he was going to…”

“ _Thea_ ,” Moira says, reaching up to grip her arm again.

“I was hoping to find the vigilante and find out why he keeps hovering around us,” Thea spills out, “Now it turns out Oliver’s fighting him, or he’s fighting Oliver. Mom, _what’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?_ ”

“I-” Moira cuts herself off, pressing her lips together. “Thea, you’re just going to have to trust me, but the vigilante is trying to find and bring Oliver in. Don’t go looking for him, don’t go looking for Oliver. Let him do his job.”

“You’re paying the vigilante to find him?” Thea demands, lowering her voice a little again when Moira darts her eyes to the doorways.

“No, he-” Moira cuts herself off again, and Thea can practically _see_ her trying to figure out how much to withhold.

“Oh my god,” Thea lets out, the pieces clicking together, “You know who the vigilante is.” Moira’s eyes dart up, a little wide. “You know-” Thea stops, more pieces snapping together, making the picture bigger, fuller. “When did Wilson get back from this island?” she asks slowly. Moira’s lips press together and that’s all Thea needs. “It’s _him_. _He’s_ the vigilante.”

“He won’t be much longer if you don’t keep your voice down,” Moira scolds. Thea’s lips flatten and Moira sighs quietly, looking away, then back and shaking her head a little, helpless. “I think you got your smarts from me.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Thea protests, heart beating quick as all the revelations slot into place. “So Wilson...is trying to find Ollie, and no one else knows but us, not the cops, not Laurel?” she asks. Moira shakes her head and Thea looks away, blowing out a breath. “Why haven’t you told the police? How do you know you can trust the _vigilante_ to find him?” she asks, looking back.

“Because he knows Oliver and it’s personal,” Moira answers. Thea doesn’t look convinced so Moira adds, “Trust me, Thea. He knows what’s he doing and he’s invested in doing it. Let him find your brother and bring him home. The police will just try and arrest Oliver for the murders.”

“ _Murders?!_ ” Thea lets out, voice rising again. Moira gives her an exasperated, sharp look before turning and picking up the remote off the coffee table, turning on the tv. Thea drags her eyes over, staring wide eyed at the news report.

“ _A group of local, senior college students were killed tonight in what’s quickly becoming known as Starling City’s most brutal murders in the past fifty years. Although there’s few details forthcoming about the reason for the massacre or who’s perpetrated it, there is one thing we know for sure: the murder weapon appears to have been a sword, though our sources say it differs from the one the local vigilante, known as the ‘Ghost’, has been known to use. Still, this begs the question: **was** it the Ghost? Was it the archer from the last reported sighting of the vigilante? Or is Starling City becoming home to a teaming pool of murderous outlaws_.”

Thea stares at the tv, hand over her mouth. The tv sound mutes and her eyes drop to the coffee table, mind blank and head pounding as she tries to imagine Ollie- _Ollie_ \- doing something like that. 

The guys from the roof flash through her mind, the sound of the one’s neck snapping, the other choking on his own blood with a knife in his throat, eyes wide, Oliver- _Oliver_ swiftly forcing the blade up into the guy’s throat, the sounds of the bodies hitting the cement.

“Thea,” Moira says gently, gripping her arm again, “Thea?”

Thea’s eyes dart over and she sucks in a breath, then another, shaking her head slowly. “I want to talk to him,” she croaks out, “ _Wilson_. I want to know more about what happened to Oliver.”

“I do too,” Moira says, reaching down to take her hand. Thea curls her fingers tight around her mother’s. “ _I do too_. And we _will_ get answers, we will, but for now...we need to wait.”

Thea shakes her head a little again and sniffles quietly, letting her mother pull her in and rest her head on Moira’s shoulder as the tears build and spill over.

\--

Diggle stares ahead, back pressed to the wall next to the family room doorway in the shadows as he listens to Thea cry. He heads for the hallway straight ahead and follows it all the way to the side door and outside into the warm night, rounding the mansion to the parking area off by the trees. He opens his car door and gets inside, closing it. 

“Thea’s fine,” he reports, the sound of shifting in the backseat, “But we’ve got a problem. She ran into Oliver tonight.” He turns and looks back at Wilson sitting in the backseat, dark eye already focused on him. “Oliver massacred a group of college kids after he got out of the cage, and he apparently killed a few more who went after Thea.” 

Wilson brings a hand up, covering his eyes for a moment before rubbing at the inner corners of them. It’s strange, knowing he actually still has an eye beneath that eyepatch. “The police are going to up their activity,” Wilson replies low, dropping his hand, “We need to find him first.”

“And you’re _sure_ he wasn’t in his right mind when he killed those kids?” Diggle asks, brows lowered.

Wilson looks up sharply. “I’m sure. And if he’s been trained at all, which he obviously has, he won’t kill the cops unless they corner him.”

“But if he does, that just increases the heat on all of us and kills more innocent people,” Diggle finishes for him. Wilson nods and Diggle turns back around, putting his keys in and starting the car, but he sits there for a minute, thinking.

“If you want out, now’s the time,” Wilson says quietly.

“Now more than ever,” Diggle starts after a moment, reaching for his seatbelt and _clicking_ it in before putting the car in gear, “I think I should be guarding the Queens.”

\-----

“I can’t believe he did this,” Felicity says quietly, looking a little green as she stares down at her tablet, “Have you seen these pictures? I wish I hadn’t seen these pictures.” She gags a little, eyes closing, and closes the page, giving herself a shake.

“What about the League?” Shado asks quietly from the chair, trying to change the subject, “We have less than twenty-four hours to do something about him, or…”

“Maybe you two got through to him enough to sway him off?” Felicity asks, glancing between Shado and Wilson, “I mean, Diggle did say that he saved Thea and didn’t kill her. Although it sounded like he was thinking about it, he didn’t actually do it.”

“That’s no guarantee that he won’t try again,” Diggle says a little wearily, leaning against the basement wall with his arms crossed, “Just because he didn’t this time, doesn’t mean he won’t next time.”

“We’ll go back to what we were doing,” Slade says, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets in the center of the room, staring ahead at the broken cage, “Diggle and Shado will watch Thea. Felicity and I will watch Moira. Keep in contact, move if anything happens.”

“Speaking of,” Felicity pipes up, drawing their gazes, “I got us something.” She digs into her bag and sets a few, hard plastic packages on the table. “Bluetooth earpieces for easier communication. I can adjust them and make them harder to hack into, too, so they should be secure enough for us to relay more sensitive information.”

It’s quiet and she looks up, blinking when she finds them all staring at her.

“What? It’s easier than stopping to make a call in the middle of a chase,” she defends.

“She’s got a point,” Diggle replies, lips curling up a little.

Shado’s own twitch and Slade sighs, quiet and put upon.

“Well,” Diggle says after a minute, pushing himself up off the wall and walking over to the table, grabbing one of the packages and holding it up with a small smile at Felicity, “I’m going to go get some sleep. You coming?”

“Yup,” Felicity replies with a smile, hopping up out of the chair and taking one of the packages with her, tucking it and her tablet into her purse. She looks at Wilson and Shado. “You guys gonna stay a little longer?”

“For now,” Shado replies with a small smile.

“Okay,” Felicity says, pausing and looking back at Shado, “And if you need a place to stay, you’re welcome to stay with me. You were already using my shower, don’t see why you can’t use my couch. And I’d feel a little safer,” she adds with a pointed look at Wilson.

He rolls his eye a little and looks away while Shado’s smile spreads. “I might take you up on that offer,” she replies, “Thank you, Felicity.”

“Sure,” Felicity beams back, then turns and follows Diggle to the stairs, up and out.

It’s quiet for a minute, then Slade sighs quietly as he crosses his arms over his chest, breaking the silence. “Do you think any of it worked?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” Shado replies, expression sobering, “I _hope_ so. From what Diggle told me, you got more of a reaction out of him than I did.” He looks over at her sharply and she shrugs. “He didn’t _leave_ when he left, just went upstairs. I think he was trying to watch your back.” She raises an eyebrow at him and he looks away, brows lowered. “It must have done something though,” she continues, “Because Oliver didn’t kill his sister when he saw her. I know it’s not a guarantee, but it gives me a little bit of hope.”

“Hope is dangerous,” Slade says low, “We already learned that on the island.”

Shado sighs, pushing up out of the chair and shifting her sore leg a little, lips pressing together. “I know,” she replies, “But I can’t seem to help it.”

He huffs quietly, uncrossing his arms. “Damn kid’s fault,” he says, not unkindly.

She smiles a little, sad, but there. “I dread imagining what it would have been like if it were just you and me on the island.”

Slade snorts quietly. He digs his hand into his pocket and pulls something out. She looks over, watches him loop the cloth once around his neck. Shado limps to him, reaching up to give the grey and black keffiyeh a little tug. “Feeling sentimental?” she teases gently. He leans away a little so she lets go.

“Damn kid’s fault,” he repeats, and she can’t help huffing a quiet laugh.

“I didn’t even know this survived,” she says.

“Seems to be going around,” he grunts. 

She limps back over to the table and grabs one of the bluetooth packages, tossing it at him. He catches it with a hand. “Have you called your son yet?” she asks. His shoulders tense and he remains silent, which is answer enough. “I won’t make you,” she continues, picking up the last package for herself before gathering the bow and quiver and her coat, “But, Slade.” He reluctantly looks over at her tone. She keeps her eyes down on the package a moment before looking back. “If I could talk to my father again, I would. I’d want it more than anything.”

Slade looks away again, standing still for a moment before he starts for the stairs. 

She limps a little after him.

\-----

_He takes a step forward, fingers coiling into fists at his sides. This is the last chance he has. He needs to kill her **now** , or-_

_She jerks back and loses her balance, starts falling back over the edge of the roof, eyes wide, and he freezes, heart skipping a beat. And then he’s running before thinks about it, reaching out-_

“ _Ollie…?_ ”

“ _So you couldn’t kill her after all_ ,” Ivo taunts, “ _That was your last chance, too. You’re out of time_.”

“ _Better this way_ ,” Yao Fei says.

Slade remains silent. Al Sah-him can feel his eyes on him.

He lowers his head into his hands, gripping it as he firmly closes his eyes, memory playing over and over in his head like a broken record. The way she looked at him, the shock and fear in her eyes. He was expecting to feel nothing, he was _supposed_ _to feel nothing_ , but it made him stop in his tracks.

“A clocktower,” comes Nyssa’s voice, quiet steps scaling the wooden stairs before slowing to a stop in the center of the room. He slowly drags his head up, watches her eyes roam over the wood and metal work shelves, the smoky plastic tarps draped across them, trailing down the sides to pool on the wood floor. “I suppose it’s appropriate for you.”

Al Sah-him keeps watching her from where he’s sitting in the far corner, acutely aware of the bags under his eyes, his empty stomach. It gives a low growl and his lips press together, grimacing a little. He’s not at his best to fight her if he has to, and he’d need to be to get away with minimal injury. He might be enhanced, but she’s a well trained blade with more experience than he’ll have for another twenty years.

Nyssa raises an unimpressed brow, looking him over. “You look terrible.”

He slants his eyes to the side, then forces himself to his feet after a moment, taking a few steps closer before coming to a stop.

“Well?” Nyssa asks, studying him, “Are you renouncing your mission and contest to my right as heir?”

He looks her over, the way she stands tall and sure, confident and full of pride, and feels so...impossibly weak in comparison. He could snap her neck with barely any effort, even as he is, if he could get close enough. But they both know he probably can’t, and the desire to do so isn’t there. The desire to do...much of anything, isn’t there.

“I slaughtered innocents,” he says quietly, voice rough. He tries to clear it a little. “Not for any purpose, just...because I wasn’t in control of myself.” He saw the news report on his way here. It may have come from what Sara and Nyssa did to him, but it was his own weakness that let it happen, let any of it happen. “I don’t want to be the next Ra’s al Ghul,” he continues, weary, “I never wanted that.” Nyssa raises her head a little and he looks off to the side again, at the warm glow coming from the sun beyond the giant clock’s huge, smokey window, large black clock hands and roman numerals visible through it all the starker against the light. “I tried to kill my sister. Couldn’t.” He lets his eyes lower, staring at the floor.

“Is this what has become of my father’s favored sword of the last four years?” Nyssa demands, “A shell of a creature?”

Al Sah-him- No, maybe he’s not that anymore, not solely. Keeps his gaze on the floor, thinking over everything for the thousandth time.

His resolve is a cracked thing, bent off aim like a twisted arrow shaft. What he was is still there, but it’s become a shadow added to the pile of things that make him up. A few days ago he thought he could have killed his family, but that’s not- That’s not entirely true. He’d aimed for Moira Queen at the restaurant that first night, and he’d missed, hit the table right in front of her, inches off his mark. He tried to kill Thea Queen last night, moved towards her to do it- and then she fell and he moved without thinking, caught her and saved her. Maybe he’s been broken from the beginning, maybe he’s still broken from the island, before it, from the moment his father’s gun went off. He’s tried becoming a soldier, and then tried becoming an assassin. He doesn’t know what he is now. Maybe he’s just an amalgamation of all the pain and torment he’s been through, a wraith drifting through the mortal plane.

“ _I forgot how dramatic you were_.”

He huffs a faint, derisive sound at himself under his breath. 

Shado was right. She usually was.

“I don’t deserve to be in the League if I cannot even carry out the orders given to me,” he says quietly. He slowly kneels down on one knee, resting his forearm across his thigh and bending forward, stretching out his neck as the weight of his hair shifts and falls to one side, hanging over the floor from its loose ponytail. “I formally rescind any challenge to your right as heir,” he says stronger, “And offer my life as payment for any mark on your honor. I am a subject of the League, no more, definitely less. If I deserve anything, it is not a place of honor. Not as your father’s sword, and not as the League’s.” His throat goes tight and he clears it quietly. It hurts to pull the words out, another deep, dull ache in a sea of them.

He keeps breathing slow and even as he waits, heart a steady rhythm in his chest. He hears the whisper of a blade drawn and- there’s no adrenaline, no spike in his heartbeat, no uptick in his breathing. There’s nothing, except the sounds of a few cars passing outside in the early morning sunlight, away from where he’s kneeling in the dark, life in the hands of a Demon.

His breathing doesn’t change when he feels a sharp blade press faintly to his exposed neck.

“We never quite liked each other, did we,” Nyssa says. He keeps quiet. “I hated the way my father favored you, like a shiny new toy he became enamored with, but it strove me to push myself harder, be faster, better than you even with your physical alterations.” The blade doesn’t move for a minute, and then it pulls away. He doesn’t hear it sheathe. “I respect you, Al Sah-him, Arrow, whatever name you choose to live by, and in the name of the Head of the Demon, I grant you a conditional release from the League.”

He stills, eyes opening. He blinks down at the floor slowly, trying to figure out what she’s doing.

“Since you have rescinded my father’s orders and any right to challenge my title as heir, and acknowledged that you are not fit to be my father’s sword, I ask that you be mine.”

He raises his head, staring up at her, brows drawn together in confusion. “What?” he croaks.

“You are no longer my father’s pet,” Nyssa declares, dark eyes boring down at him, “I would have you serve me.”

“As _your_ pet?” he asks, more confused than anything.

Her lips curl a little, eyebrows twitching upwards in faint amusement. “Perhaps. You will come when I call, but only when _I_ call. This is the condition for the release of your life to do with as you see fit. Should you put the League in danger, however, your life is forfeit. Do you understand?”

“I don’t know,” he answers slowly, honestly. He doesn’t know what her end goal for this is. He thought he knew Ra’s', he thought he knew his own, but now he’s not sure of anything anymore.

Her smile spreads a little, more openly amused than he’s used to seeing directed at him. She’s usually only like that with Sara. “You will serve me and only me when I call,” she repeats, “You will not endanger the League by drawing attention to it. Outside of these conditions, you are free to do as you wish with your life.”

He stares up at her, feeling... _bereft_ as the realization sinks in, like he’s back on the raft floating at sea. “Is this a punishment?” he rasps.

“Punishment, or reward. That is for you to determine,” she declares, “Do you accept?”

He blinks slowly, trying to process. 

She’s doing him a kindness, in a way, logically he knows that, but it’s also a punishment. He will be sentenced to death for not fulfilling Ra’s orders, and his time is up to try to fulfill them. They are void. He can’t return to the place he’s come to call home for the past four years, he is only left with the options to run or face League justice and die. Neither too can he return to the Queen Estate as Oliver Queen, the place he’d called home for twenty-two years of his life. He has nowhere to go in either direction. She is offering him a pardon of sorts, but he is still left in the middle of the ocean again, on his own.

“Part of me wishes you’d just kill me,” he says roughly.

“Sara would never forgive me,” Nyssa replies, “For all that she thinks you’ve changed, it would grieve her to see you gone. My father may think her weak for it, but that attachment has always endeared her to me.” She pauses, smiling faintly, though not at him. “She has more heart than either of us,” she adds softer.

He drops his eyes down, searching the floor for answers. “I can’t go home,” he says quieter.

“‘Home’, I’ve found, is nebulous,” she replies, not unkindly, “Perhaps you should look outside the box you’ve shut yourself away in.” 

He looks back up at that. 

She watches him for a long moment before slowly crouching down, and he keeps still, the two of them watching each other. 

“Shall I tell you a story? One very few in the League know,” she says, quiet like a secret. He keeps silent and she continues. “I had a sister, Talia. She was strong, and brave, and beautiful. When she got older, just as headstrong as my father, they got in a disagreement about her future, and she left to make her own path. A year later, my father sent me to kill her.”

He blinks once, pressing his lips together a little as he stares into her bottomless brown eyes. They shift off to the side a little, going distant with memory.

“I tried to,” she says, voice going a little softer, “I had her on her knees with my blade to her throat, much like I had mine to yours just moments ago. She looked up at me and told me to kill her.” Nyssa pauses, then looks back to him. “I did not. I returned with her words echoing in my head, that our father would be ashamed, and he was. I carried that shame with me for years, right up until I heard the sound of Sara’s laugh.”

He stills and her eyes curve a little with her smile. Her gaze goes distant again.

“The day I first truly met her, you still thought she was dead. My father gave a demonstration of his power, different from the one he gave you, but still a sight, and where everyone else before her trembled and cowered, she laughed. It sounded like sunlight deep in the caverns of Nanda Parbat.” Nyssa slowly rises back to her feet, looking down at him. “You are not the first to fail in killing a loved one, but where others would not be given the chance to see where that leads, I am giving it to you.”

“How does sparing your sister make meeting Sara different?” he asks roughly, quietly clearing his throat again.

“Because I still had enough humanity in me from not doing it for the sound of her laughter to touch my soul,” Nyssa answers, like it’s simple.

He stares up at her, quietly stunned.

She smiles mysteriously before pointing her blade at him, expression sobering. “Now. Decide,” she demands, “Will you serve me and face your choices? Or will you face death for finding the humanity Sara tried so hard to return to you.”

He leans back a little, letting it all sink in.

_“Even Ra’s is human, Ollie. What are you so afraid of?”_

_“You’re allowed to feel.”_

_“I don’t **want to!** ”_

_I’ve been running away_ , he realizes distantly. He closes his eyes, feels the shame rise and swell from the pit of him and makes himself take a slow breath through it. 

He makes his decision.


	15. Cast away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I might be catching something. Was real hard to focus trying to finish this

“ _We officially have five hours left and I’m going on my lunch break_ ,” Felicity’s voice says in his ear. Slade makes a small face against the lip of his coffee cup, reaching up to try and adjust the bluetooth.

“I don’t like having your voice in my ear,” he grunts.

“ _Yeah, well I don’t like having you in me either_ ,” she quips back. It goes quiet and he slowly raises a brow at the high pitched sound she makes on the other end, sipping his black coffee. “ _I did not just say that_.” Slade hears Shado huff a laugh and Diggle snort faintly. “ _I just got word that Moira Queen is going to be working late tonight_ ,” Felicity adds after a couple minutes, “ _So I guess we’re doing a stakeout...Right? A steakout? That’s what we’re doing? Should I buy sandwiches on my break?_ ”

Slade shakes his head a little and takes another sip of his coffee, looking around from where he’s seated in the coffee shop’s outside sitting area. Customer’s come and go, a constant stream of people going up and down the sidewalk, most in suits and stiff skirts. There’s laughter from another table nearby, a kid cooing into their chocolate milk, a dog barking excitedly at the end of the street.

His gaze lands back on Queen Consolidated across the street, eye shifting up to the higher floors. “Have you run into anything else about Tempest?” he mumbles, giving another quick scan of the area.

“ _‘Tempest’?_ ” Shado asks.

“ _I completely forgot_ ,” Felicity replies, “ _Between the, you know, assassins and a certain someone being locked up_.” He hears a faint voice on the other end and Felicity give a light, fake laugh before continuing, voice hushed. “ _But no, I haven’t run into anything more in any of the digging I’ve done recently, but that means the boat should still be in the warehouse, right?_ ”

“ _What boat?_ ” Shado asks.

“Moira’s got the wreck of the Queen’s Gambit in a warehouse just outside the city,” Slade answers quietly, “When I interrogated her, Oliver interrupted before I could get an answer out of her, but she asked if ‘he’ sent me.”

“ _That doesn’t sound ominous at all_ ,” Felicity mutters, “ _I’ll do some more digging, but you might need to have another, more civil talk with her_.” There’s a pause, and then, “ _She’s laughing with an investor. How can she be laughing and smiling when she just found out her son’s alive and tried to kill her? There’s something off about that woman._ ”

Slade grunts an agreement.

“ _I mean that still doesn’t mean I want you to torture her_ ,” Felicity adds quickly.

“I said I wasn’t going to,” Slade bites back.

“ _Wait_ ,” Shado interrupts, “ _So she has the boat Oliver and his father shipwrecked on and hasn’t told anyone, just put it in storage in a warehouse for, what? The past five years?_ ”

“ _Sounds suspicious, doesn’t it_ ,” Diggle replies, “ _And whoever ‘he’ is might be a problem, too. Might even be the reason she’s keeping it quiet_.”

Slade’s brows lower while Shado’s breath whispers across the line.

“ _I think I might need to have a talk with this woman too_ ,” she mutters flatly.

“ _I was really starting to think ‘ancient assassins’ was where the mystery stopped_ ,” Felicity chimes in wryly, “ _Now we’re back to ‘conspiracy’_.”

“ _We need more information_ ,” Diggle says, “ _Wilson, any chance you can meet with Moira and find out more?_ ”

“If you keep Thea off my back,” he rumbles, taking a sip of his coffee. Last thing they need is Oliver’s ambitious, equally stubborn sister trying to stick her nose further into their business.

“ _We might need to do something about her_ ,” Diggle says, “ _She ditched her bodyguard last night just to go to the Glades to try and find you. I don’t know how much the talk she had with her mother is actually going to deter her now that she knows her brother’s alive. It might just make her try harder_.”

There’s something about Diggle’s voice towards the end that makes Slade’s eye narrow a little, but he thinks it over.

“ _Just a wild suggestion_ ,” Felicity pipes in, “ _But what if we bring her in?_ ” Diggle snorts and Felicity continues. “ _No, really. Oliver didn’t kill her, actually went and saved her. Maybe that connection can help us later._ ”

“ _I don’t disagree, but I’m hesitant to bring her into this any more than she already is_ ,” Shado replies slowly.

“ _On the other hand_ ,” Diggle starts, “ _Her being involved at all might cause a landslide and she’ll end up in deeper without us being in the loop on what she’s doing. Bringing her in might be what protects her_.”

They all go quiet, thinking.

“ _And she still wants to talk to you, Wilson_ ,” Felicity adds.

He closes his eye for a long moment, then rolls his neck. “Fine,” he sighs, “But she’s still your problem, Diggle.”

They lapse into silence again, Slade keeping an eye on the area, the streets and passing cars and occasional motorcycle, the surrounding rooftops.

“ _I can’t believe you were actually keeping watch from coffee shops that whole time_ ,” Diggle says, voice hushed, “ _I should have thought of it sooner. The best places to hide are always in plain sight._ ”

“Or the shadows,” Slade replies idly.

“ _Rooftops too, wasn’t it_ ,” Diggle says, not asks, “ _You were a sniper, right?_ ”

“I’m a lot of things,” Slade replies, taking another sip.

\-----

Thea lets out a frustrated groan, pushing back from her desk and rolling the chair a little across the floor.

_Wilson_

_About 195,000,000 results_

“I’m _never_ going to find him at this rate,” she lets out, throwing her arms up as she drops back, chair rocking a bit under her weight and momentum until it slows to a stop, leaving her staring up at the arching gray ceiling, hands dangling back over the carpet.

_An arm wraps around her waist. She stares up under the hood._

_Green eyes stare back down, hard and angry._

_He’s never looked at me like that before_ , she thinks, backs of her eyes stinging a little. She swallows. Ollie looked at her like he _hated_ her, like he didn’t want anything to do with her. He wasn’t _always_ there when they were growing up, but…

She sits up and gets to her feet, heading out of her room. She walks down the hall, past the guest room in the middle to stop at the second door on the left, staring at the dark wood. She drops her eyes to the handle after a minute, then wraps her fingers around the ornate metal. She stays still for a long moment, just trying to keep her breathing steady, then slowly turns the handle and just as slowly pushes the door open, stepping inside.

His room still looks the same, not a single thing out of place, not the photos of their family and Laurel and Tommy on his desk, not the bookcases full of things he never really read, the tv to her right with the- the model boat above it, the couch in front of it, the red blankets on his pristine bed. Her mom’s kept it the same, still has the maids clean it and keep it tidy. Thea always thought it was a little creepy, and then the room was just...a hole in her chest, a void in the house she couldn’t think about. She stopped looking at the door whenever she walked by, couldn’t stand it, outright avoided the hallway altogether when she’d catch the door open and hear the maids inside.

She wanders over to the desk, eyes slowly roaming over every picture, lingering on his face, smiling and carefree, not...hard and angry and scarred. _Where did he get that scar?_ she wonders, heart tightening in her chest, and forces her eyes away. She walks over to the windows at the right, looking down out at the yard that stretches out to the forest, the garden off to the left, the rose bushes lining the area to the right. It’s sunny outside, bright and cheery. She can even hear the damn birds singing.

She walks back further into the room, pauses and heads over to the bed, crawling on top and crumpling the perfectly made image under her weight. She curls up in the middle and stares down at the comforter.

_“What’cha doing, Speedy?” Oliver asks, coming to kneel down next to her at the coffee table._

_“Trying to make a paper crane,” she says, biting her lower lip while her brows draw down in concentration, looking between the instructions and her own piece of paper. She folds another side, letting out a groan when she realizes it’s the **wrong side**._

_He laughs quietly and she glares over at him, lip pouting out._

_“Here,” he chuckles, reaching for the stacks of paper in the center of the table and pulling one in front of him, “Let’s try doing it together. You can show me how you got that far because I...have no idea.”_

_She sits up straighter. “You don’t have to go anywhere?” she asks a little hesitantly._

_His blue eyes find her and he smiles warmly. “I’ll always make time for you, Speedy,” he says._

_“Promise?” she asks, holding up her pinky._

_“Promise,” he agrees, locking his pinky with hers. They shake on it and she grins._

_She looks back down at the instructions, reaching for another piece of paper. “Well first you-”_

_Green eyes stare down at her, hard and angry-_

 

She curls up more, pulling her knees to her chest and squeezing her eyes shut against the sting. “You _promised_ ,” she says, quiet and broken, turning her face into the comforter.

\-----

“Nyssa said I might find you here,” comes Ta-er al-Sahfer’s voice. He half turns away from the crack in the clock window’s glass and watches her look up and around, take in the high, arcing white ceiling and all the shelves and equipment pushed off to the sides. Her blue eyes finally land on him and she walks over, taking a peek out the crack he was looking through. “Can see a lot of the city from here. Is this your ‘watch tower’?”

He doesn’t answer, instead looking out the crack too. The city sprawls and stretches out, skyscrapers giant pillars at uneven intervals. He’s not used to it so much anymore, all the metal and glass everywhere. The League isn’t allergic to technology by any means, but the base is mostly in the earth, deep and quiet. He misses the smell of the water on the rocks, the moss that grows in the cracks and the oil the torches are lit on. The city just smells...like too much when he’s outside, too many things, sounds, too many distractions. For all that he lived here for most of his life, it feels...uncomfortable, strange being back, like deja vu and clothes that don’t fit anymore.

He looks towards the horizon. The sun will start going down soon.

“Come to say goodbye?” he asks quietly.

Ta-er al-Sahfer leans back and looks up at him, smiling a little, eyes sad. “I’m going to miss you,” she says, “But we’ll see each other again. I brought you something.” He turns a little more towards her while she digs into her robes, pulling out-

He blinks, eyes following as she offers him his father’s notebook, just as beat up and water warped as it was when he’d locked it in a box and put it under his bed back in Nanda Parbat. His heart gives a squeeze as the realization sinks in. “You’ve been planning this for a while,” he says quieter. Her smile turns sadder and he makes himself take a breath and reach up, take the book from her.

“I wasn’t sure what I was going to do until we got here,” she confesses quietly, “I just knew I needed to do something, and I thought ‘just in case’, and brought this.” She looks down at the book, then back up at him. “Might give you something to do, maybe help you figure things out.”

“You think I don’t know myself?” he asks.

“I think you know what you are,” she answers, holding his stare, “But I don’t think you know _who_ you are. Without that, you’re nothing more than a tool, and you’re better than that, Ollie.”

“You keep trying to call me that,” he sighs quietly, looking down at the book in his hand.

She gives a quiet hum. “It’s the name I knew you by the longest. I know you’re not ‘Oliver Queen, rich playboy’ anymore, but it’s still one of your names.”

He shakes his head a little, feeling...defeated. He hasn’t felt like this in-...since his father died, maybe, or since Yao Fei died. He looks up when he feels a hand on his shoulder and lets her slowly reel him in, wrap her arms around him. He reaches up and lets himself wrap his own around her like he did the first time, when he found out she was alive. He presses his mouth to her shoulder, closing his eyes.

“We’ll see each other again,” she repeats, promises, giving him a squeeze before finally pulling back. He makes himself let go, looking down at her.

He is going to miss her. Even with...everything, and as much as he tried not to rely on having her there, she _has_ been there through almost all of the past four years, from his transition from makeshift soldier to assassin, through most of the training and trials and missions. She’s one of the few people who really knows him, and has known him the longest. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to believe her. He thought he knew himself clearly, but she saw through the smoke and mirrors to the cracks he didn’t realize were underneath. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t want to see them.

She slowly pulls away and he makes himself let her go, silently watching her turn and head for the opening in the floor, taking the stairs down. She pauses and looks at him one last time on the way, and he takes a breath.

“Goodbye, Sara,” he says quietly.

She blinks a little, then gives him a soft, bittersweet smile. She disappears down below, steps so quiet he can’t even tell how far away she is after a minute.

He looks down at the book again, reaching up with his other hand to pull the worn cover open, the spine creeking faintly. The list of names is still there, not washed away by the ocean like he thought they might have been, and he takes a breath to steel himself, reading over the first list.

He needs to find food, weapons and supplies if he’s going to do this, do any of this. He’s still not sure if he…

‘Want’ hasn’t really been in his vocabulary the past four years. It makes him straighten a little, realizing that’s what he’s feeling.

His fingers curl a little against the pages and his lips press together. He misses the feel of his bow and arrows and sword. He _wants_ those, and he wants to use them.

\-----

“ _Stakeouts are officially boring_ ,” Felicity bemoans, “ _What is she even doing up there?_ ”

Slade glances through his binoculars to check the office across the street, then lowers them. “Still at her desk, like the last time you asked.”

Felicity groans loudly in his ear and he just about gives in and pulls the damn bluetooth out. “ _It’s already **seven**. I have officially been in my office for going on ten hours. Speaking of_ ,” her voice picks back up, “ _We have about one hour left before the twenty-four hours is up. Any sign of him?_ ”

“ _Negative_ ,” Diggle reports.

“ _Nothing_ ,” Shado replies.

“No,” Slade answers flatly, “Now stop. Talking.”

“ _Rude_ ,” Felicity protests. He hears grumbling on the other end but she doesn’t actually say anything else to anyone, so the tension in his shoulders unwinds a little.

He spends the next hour keeping an eye on the office, the side of the building he can see, the people and traffic coming and going below as the sun falls and sinks the city into night and shadows and streetlights. The traffic gradually lessens as the hour slowly ticks by, but the tension picks back up in his shoulders the closer they get to the deadline.

“ _Eight o’clock_ ,” Felicity chimes after a bit, “ _Time’s up_.”

“ _Still no sign of him_ ,” Diggle reports quietly.

“ _Nothing here_ ,” Shado adds.

Slade scans the rooftops again, the building, the streets, the cars, the shops still open below. “Nothing,” he reports.

“ _Uh, guys_ ,” Felicity says after a minute, and he stiffens, ready to move, “ _If you can, turn to the news channel_.”

Slade frowns, digging his phone out of his pocket and lowering it down, cupping a hand over the top to try and keep the screen light from completely broadcasting his position. He taps open the web browser and the news site, unmuting the sound and then turning it down low.

“- _Adam Hunt, CEO of Hunt Multinational, suspected of multiple counts of theft and fraud against the city’s underprivileged, was found dead in his office just thirty minutes ago. Sources say the cause of death was an arrow to the chest. Laurel Lance, the lead attorney in the case against Hunt, filed the charges against Hunt barely a day ago_ -”

“ _Think it was him?_ ” Diggle asks.

“ _Not many arrow users in Starling_ ,” Felicity replies, “ _At least I hope not_.”

Slade shuts his phone off, slipping it back into his pocket.

“ _But if it was him, why go after this Adam Hunt guy?_ ” Felicity asks, “ _Something to do with the League? Or Laurel?_ ”

Slade catches movement across the street and raises his binoculars. “Queen’s leaving her office,” he reports.

“ _Got it_ ,” Felicity replies.

He scans the street again, the shops, the rooftops. But there’s still nothing. If Oliver’s going to try and take out his mother, it’s probably going to happen as she comes out. Slade keeps his eye open, senses focused. After a few more minutes, Moira Queen comes out the front doors with her two bodyguards and he tenses, sweeping the area. One guard opens her car’s back door and she slips inside, the guard closing the door after her and rounding the back to get in with her while the other gets in the front.

Slade catches Felicity coming out of the building and glances back to the car, watches the headlights come on and the car pull away from the curb. He slowly stands and walks to the other end of the roof as it heads down the street, stopping at the traffic light and turning left.

“I’m tailing Queen,” he reports as he runs left, jumps to the neighbouring roof and takes off, darting a look over to try and keep the car in sight.

“ _On **foot?**_ ” Felicity asks incredulously, “ _Right. The thing. Geeze, how much stamina does it give you?_ ” A pause while he jumps between roofs. “ _I didn’t mean that in a-...I don’t...I’m going to stop talking. Right now_.”

Slade jumps over another alleyway, eye on the car, then catches a whistle of sound and shoves himself left, jerking to a stop as his eyes catch on a black hood. “ _Oliver_ ,” he lets out.

“ _He’s there?_ ” Shado asks urgently.

Slade glances over, finds an arrow embedded in the roof and looks back. Oliver watches him, not moving, so Slade keeps still and studies him. He looks tired, face a little wan. He didn’t eat the whole time they had him, as far as Slade knows. Maybe he still hasn’t. He’s not sure the ‘sleep’ Oliver got while poisoned could even be counted as proper rest either. “Not going after your mother?” he asks. Oliver’s lips flatten and Slade tries to work out what he’s doing. “Your time is up.”

“I’m not here for that anymore,” Oliver finally says.

Slade’s fingers curl a little. “What are you here for?” he asks. Oliver shoulders his bow and draws the sword at his side, some sort of katana, and Slade reaches back, drawing one his own blades. He didn’t manage to grab the rest of his gear, but he brought these at least.

Oliver runs at him and Slade moves, meeting him head on. Their blades hit and he feels the grind along the metal, trying to push Oliver back. It works about as well as it did last time. Their blades slip off each other with the force and they circle one another for half a second before Oliver comes at him again, blades clashing. Oliver glares at him, brows furrowed and expression hard, then does something unexpected and takes off, sprinting for the edge of the roof and leaping the distance to the next one. Slade follows before he can think too much about it, taking off after him.

“ _What’s happening?_ ” Felicity asks urgently.

“I’m in pursuit,” Slade answers on the next land, chasing Oliver’s black clad back.

“ _Appreciating the bluetooth right about now?_ ” Felicity quips.

Slade just grunts and keeps running. Oliver disappears over the edge of the next roof and Slade pushes himself faster, dropping down into the alley after him and chasing his shadow around the corner. Oliver runs into a large, brick warehouse up ahead and Slade slows, rationality finally catching up.

“Might be a trap,” he says quietly, raising his sword a little as he walks towards the entrance, darting his eye around. The street and lot are quiet and empty.

“ _I’ve got your location_ ,” Felicity says after a moment, “ _Checking the surrounding buildings…_ ” she trails off.

He stops at the wide open doorway. He can’t see that far into the warehouse before it’s too dark for detail, but he sees open space and the dim shapes of crates and equipment, dim light coming through the painted over windows along the far wall, but not enough to tell if this really is a trap or not.

“ _It’s just a one story warehouse_ ,” Felicity reports, “ _No basement. All doors lead to either alleyways or the open lot_.”

“ _We’ve got Thea in her room_ ,” Diggle reports.

“ _Moira Queen just arrived at the front door,_ ” Shado adds quietly.

“ _What do you think the play is?_ ” Diggle asks.

“I don’t know,” Slade answers, voice hushed, and slowly walks inside. He darts his eye around, listening closely, but there’s no sign of the League, or Sara, or al Ghul. He keeps walking until he spots Oliver’s dark form in the center of the room, standing still, sword drawn. Slade heads over his way, keeping an eye out. “What are you doing, kid?” he asks low.

“I need to know something,” Oliver replies quietly.

“What?” Slade asks.

Oliver runs at him again and Slade tenses, drawing his sword up. Their blades hit again, and again. Oliver spins and aims a kick for his knee, Slade blocks it with his shin and throws a punch, hits air as Oliver drops to the side, braces a hand on the floor and hooks his leg up around Slade’s neck, rolling them both to the ground. Oliver’s on his back a bare second before he can move, Slade stilling at the feel of sharp steel at his throat beneath his chin. He can hear Oliver panting behind him, just quietly, but it’s telling. Slade’s not out of breath.

“What are you waiting for?” Slade asks quietly when it’s been a minute and Oliver still hasn’t moved. The blade shifts a fraction against his neck and he feels a light cut, a faint trail of blood pool and slip down the side of his neck into his keffiyeh.

It’s quiet for another minute, and then the blade disappears and Slade rolls up, but Oliver’s already sprinting for the door, out and gone by the time Slade gets to his feet and to the doorway, scanning the area.

“ _Are you...still alive?_ ” Felicity asks after a silent minute, hesitant and quiet.

“He put a sword to my throat and ran off,” Slade reports, brows drawn together as he puzzles that over, “He could have killed me.”

“ _I’m sensing a theme here_ ,” Felicity says, sounding more relieved than sarcastic, “ _He could have killed you, but he didn’t_.”

 _No, he didn’t_ , he thinks, frowning as he sheathes his sword and ruthlessly squashing the hope trying to bud in his chest.

\--

Al Sah-him slams his bow down on one of the work shelves in the clock tower, panting through gritted his teeth.

 _I can’t kill him either_ , he thinks viciously, makes himself take a slow inhale to try and calm down.

_He pulls in a ragged breath as he jolts, jerking up and struggling against the grip on his arms-_

_“Hey, hey! Kid! Calm down, you’re alright!” a voice cuts through the-_

_“Slade?” he gasps out, staring up wide eyed. Slade’s dark eyes swim into view, staring back down, close and- scared? Concerned? “What happened?” Oliver rasps, “I thought I-” He stills, reaching up to wipe at his eyes, fingers coming away with blood. “What?”_

_“You died,” Slade says, calm and firm, but the grip on Oliver’s arm tightens and his eyes dart back up, “Five minutes. Same thing happened to me.”_

_Oliver stares up at him, at Slade’s furrowed brow and the downturn of his lips, the conflicted look in his eyes._

_**“I didn’t tell you…” he whispers.** _

_Oliver swallows, heart beating faster when he realizes how close they are and tries to sit up awkwardly in Slade’s lap while dragging his eyes away and looking around the- sub. Right, the sub. The grip stays on him for another moment before letting up and Oliver rolls out of Slade’s lap to his knees, reaching up to rub beneath his eyes. He feels-_

_He feels…_

_His head jerks up and he looks down, feeling at where the gunshot wound- was? He lifts his shirt and looks when he doesn’t feel any pain, finds a puckered scar and drying blood where he was shot but- nothing else. Oliver stares, slowly pushing his shirt down as he pulls a huge breath in, lets it out in a rush._

_Nothing. No pain._

_“It’s gone,” he breathes._

_“The bullet’s probably still in there,” Slade says, cutting through his thoughts. Oliver’s eyes jerk up and he watches Slade get to his feet, offering a hand and staring down at him with...something Oliver can’t put a name to, something they don’t have time for. Ivo-_

_Oliver reaches up and takes Slade’s hand, letting Slade pull him up like he weighs nothing. The touch lingers and Oliver swallows again, staring at Slade who watches him back. Slade lets go and Oliver feels a little more like he can breathe again._

_“We need to get back to the plane,” Slade says, all business, heading for the open doorway. Oliver watches his back for a moment, his wide shoulders, and gives the sub one last look around before following, fingers curling a little. He can still feel the warmth of Slade’s hand._

Oliver- Al Sah-him gives his head a shake, dragging his eyes away from the bow. His fingers curl a little at his side and he makes them still.

It was the same hand he stabbed Slade in the eye with, and ruined all their lives.

\-----

Thea’s cellphone vibrates on her nightstand and she jerks up from where she’s hunched over her laptop on her bed, reaching over to check the caller I.D.

‘ _Unknown_ ’

She taps the ‘answer’ button and brings the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“ _Heard you were looking for me_ ,” answers a voice, deep and rough and male, older with some accent she can’t quite place.

“Excuse me?” she demands, sitting up straighter, “Who is this?”

A _sigh_. “ _You know who. About your brother_.”

She freezes, looking back to the vigilante search results on her laptop before shoving it off her lap and getting up off her bed. “It’s you, isn’t it,” she says.

“ _Come to the window_.”

She stills, eyes darting over, heartbeat picking up when she realizes there’s a dark shape on the other side of her curtains. “I think I’d rather not.”

“ _I’m not doing this over the phone_ ,” he growls out, “ _Either open the window or I’m gone_.”

She stares at the dark figure, swallows, and pulls in a breath, makes herself let it out slow. “ _Fine_ ,” she says, trying to keep her voice from shaking as she forces her feet to move. She grabs her metal baton from middle school on her way over. “But you try anything and I’ll scream so loud everyone in the house and the neighbours five miles away will hear me.” The vigilante doesn’t say anything and she swallows again, slowly reaching up with the baton and using it to part the curtains. A...man is crouched outside her window, no mask or gear save for the two swords on his back. He’s older, darker skinned with black hair, an eyepatch, and a hard look on his face. Not...what she was expecting.

She slowly steps forward and unlocks the window, pulling it open a few inches. He doesn’t come inside like she thought he would, just hangs up his cellphone and shifts so he’s crouched closer to the opening, dark eye focused on her. She lowers her phone and hangs up on her end, raising the baton between them.

“ _Well?_ ” she demands, “What do you know about my brother, _Mr. Wilson?_ You said he died, then he apparently _didn’t_.”

“He survived and was taken in by an organization of assassins,” Wilson answers, deep timbre of his voice more pleasant sounding in person than it was over the phone, not as rough and tinny as it was across the line. “He targeted your mother twice, then went after you.”

She huffs a disbelieving laugh but quickly cuts it off, eyes wide as she tries to think through the growing static in her head, the sinking feeling in her chest. “Why would he do that?” she asks a little shakily, swallowing and clearing her throat quietly.

“Because he’s been trained to for the past four years,” Wilson answers steadily, “But something changed and he couldn’t go through with it. He’s still in the city.”

“And you’re trying to find him,” she surmises. He lowers his head a little in a nod. “Why are you willingly telling me all this?” she asks, suspicion finally creeping in past the shock, “You didn’t have to tell me anything.”

He sighs again, put upon, darting his eye around, presumably to check for the patrolling security guards before his hard gaze lands back on her. “Because my associates think you’re going to keep digging on your own and that it’s better if we bring you in. Oliver may try to come after you again.”

She frowns, thinking all that over. “You have associates?”

“Too many,” he grunts low, eye narrowing a little before he speaks up again, “So what are you going to do, Thea Queen?”

She stiffens and forces her shoulders back, grip tightening on her phone and baton. “I’m going to help you bring my brother home,” she answers firmly, “That _is_ what you’re trying to do, right? Not kill him?” Wilson gives a short, sharp nod of his head and she lets out a quiet breath, slowly lowering the baton. “Then let’s bring him home.”

“It’s not going to be that easy,” he warns.

“I know,” she answers firmly, “But we have to do it. It’s Ollie.”

One of his eyebrows raises a little at that but he doesn’t argue with her, just sets an older model flip phone on her windowsill and pulls away, dropping down off the second story roof out of sight.

\-----

“Ma’am, the security footage from Starling City,” an agent reports.

Amanda Waller signals the agent with a few fingers and the footage pops up on her wide podium screen. She taps the still image and it plays, the League agent with green eyes they’ve been chasing cutting through a group of young adults like paper, blood splattering up the windows and car doors as he moves, inhumanly fast and hood off for once.

“This footage has been erased from the city archives?” she checks, glancing over at the agent.

“Yes, Ma’am,” the agent answers before turning back to his screen.

She focuses back on her own, pausing the video and enlarging the still, crisp and clean and cleaned up. She runs facial recognition and the program flashes green with a hit barely two minutes later.

“Well, well, well,” she purrs, lips slowly curling up as she leans down a little, bracing her hands either side of the screen, “Oliver Queen. Seems you survived the island after all.”


	16. Situation Normal All Fucked Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for a violent death
> 
> Also youtube actually rec'd me something useful. This is Oliver; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RpCSKhpvqeE - "The Hate Inside" by Tommee Profitt Ft. Sam Tinnesz

“So let me try to summarize this,” Felicity says on her way back down the stairs into the basement. “Nice scarf,” she detours, looking at Wilson leaning on his shoulder against the wall as she passes him on the way to the table.

“Keffiyeh,” Wilson corrects distractedly, gaze focused down on his phone, “Used in the desert.”

“We’re in a city,” Felicity says. He doesn’t reply so she lets it go, taking a seat at the table and turning in the chair to lean her side against the back, resting her forearm across the backrest. “But as I was saying: Oliver’s time is up, he’s presumably _not_ trying to kill his family anymore, and is instead going after...other people. Who may have some sort of connection but we don’t know yet. Thea’s in the loop, and Moira _might_ be hiding the Queen’s Gambit from someone, or for someone, for some reason. That about it?”

“Yup,” Diggle replies, hands in his suit pants pockets.

“And the League might have left?” Felicity asks hopefully, “I haven’t picked up any activity, if they even _leave_ enough trace of themselves around for me to pick up _on_.”

“I haven’t seen them around,” Shado answers.

“Then, yes! Go Team Ghost!” Felicity lets out, punching the air. That draws all their eyes and she stills, hand frozen above her. “Well it was either that or ‘Team Sword’. I thought about ‘Team Slasher’ but that just sounds like a terrible horror movie,” she says, lowering her arm. “So now all that’s left is bringing Oliver in from the Dark Side and finding out what’s going on with Moira.”

“Both easier said than done,” Diggle says.

“True,” she points at him, “But it clears a good chunk off our plate.”

Shado walks over to Slade, limp mostly gone, and glances down at his phone. He pockets it, lifting his head and looking over at her with lowered brows. She raises one back and loops back around to the cage still bolted to the floor in the middle of the room, crossing her arms. “What are we going to do with this?”

“Take it down,” Diggle suggests, wandering over and stopping next to her, “It’s not much use as is, and it was improvised to begin with.”

“Could put some training mats there instead,” Felicity says a little too casually from the table, “Maybe some lights...a plant. Get that window fixed.” She jerks a thumb at the tarp covered window at the other end of the room. “Maybe get a computer with better operating power than my tablet?” They all look over again and she shrugs, looking innocently off to the side. “Just some suggestions.”

“This isn’t permanent,” Slade says gruffly, “I’m only here until Oliver’s dealt with.”

“Yeah, but _while_ you’re here…” Felicity trails off, looking over. She looks around the room, shoulders sinking a little, then looks back to her tablet. “I don’t actually know how I’d pay for all that anyway, I guess.” Diggle walks over and rests a hand on her shoulder and she looks up. He offers a smile and her lips curl up back. Her tablet _pings_ and she turns back towards the table as Diggle lets go, sitting up straighter. “Someone else was killed,” she reports, back to business, “Arrows again. The police are making a statement.”

They all gather around behind her as she turns the volume up on her tablet.

“- _second murder in as many days involving arrows._ _The SCPD is officially taking action against the vigilantes known as the ‘Ghost’ and the ‘Archer’,”_ The police commissioner says _, “As of today, we are assembling a task force whose sole priority will be apprehending these two individuals with orders to shoot to kill should they resist arrest. Should anyone be found aiding or abetting either, they will face the law. None of us are above it, least of all sword and arrow wielding vigilantes who take the law into their own hands and slaughter any innocent bystanders who get in their way_.”

“Well...we did see that coming,” Felicity says, turning the volume back down. She looks back and up over her shoulder at Wilson. “How good is that healing ability you have? Does it work against bullets?”

“I wear kevlar,” he grunts back, turning and heading back over to the wall.

“Bullets are fine,” Shado supplies.

“But they sting like a bitch,” Wilson adds, leaning his back against the wall, “Get enough of them in me and I won’t move.”

“Are you going to stop vigilante-ing and looking for Oliver?” Felicity asks. He just levels her with a stare and she throws her hands up. “I was just checking!”

Shado walks over to him, stopping close again, and Slade glances up. She’s maybe one of the few people he doesn’t mind in his close proximity. “She’s right to worry,” Shado says quietly, “You’ve never gotten shot more than a few times at once, and all of those went straight through. We don’t know if you can take ten or twenty bullets.”

“Then I’ll just have to not get hit,” he replies. She gives him a look and then he shifts a little at a vibration against his thigh, digging his phone out and checking the screen. He hits ‘answer’ and raises it to his ear.

“ _You have to find him before the police do_ ,” Thea’s urgent voice comes through before he can say anything.

“I gave you that phone for emergencies,” he replies evenly.

“ _I think my brother possibly getting shot by the entire police department qualifies as an emergency!_ ” she hisses back, voice hushed.

“He can take care of himself,” Slade replies, “We’re going out tonight to look for him.”

“ _Then don’t you get shot either_ ,” she says, “ _You can’t look for him if you’re in a hospital or dead_.”

She hangs up before he can say anything to that and he huffs a breath, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. He looks over to see Shado watching him and rolls his shoulders back. “She’s like her brother,” he grunts, “Mouthy.” Shado’s lips curl up and she walks back over to the table, leaning down to talk to Felicity.

\-----

Al Sah-him pauses in slurping up his noodles at the report on the tv in the corner of the Chinese restaurant, slurping up the ones still dangling from his chopsticks before raising his head a little while he chews, but making sure to keep low enough that the hood still obscures him from any security cameras. Even with sunglasses on, his face isn’t one everyone’s probably forgotten yet.

“ _As of today, we are assembling a task force whose sole priority will be apprehending these two individuals with orders to shoot to kill should they resist arrest. Should anyone be found aiding or abetting either, they will face the law. None of us are above it, least of all sword and arrow wielding vigilantes who take the law into their own hands and slaughter any innocent bystanders who get in their way_.”

The police might become a problem, if they can catch him. Chances are they might be starting to put together that he’s attacking the wealthy, even if they don’t know why. Even with Robert Queen’s words still echoing in the depths of his head, he did a little digging with the laptop he stole before acting. None of the names on his father’s list are good people, or innocent by any means. Extortion, human trafficking, drugs, money laundering. Most of them haven’t been outright accused, but the trails are there, some more obvious than others.

The waitress heads his way and he ducks a little, angling his scarred cheek away while reaching for his cooling cup of tea.

“ _Need anything else?_ ” she asks in Mandarin.

“ _No, thank you_ ,” he replies softly in kind with a little smile. She smiles back and moves onto the next table while he takes a sip, smile dropping off his face. He finishes his noodles, tea, and the extra sweets she brought out for him and leaves what he owes on the polished tabletop with a tip, keeping his head low and tucking his hands into the hoodie’s pockets as he leaves the restaurant.

Money and other necessities aren’t hard to get, but he won’t be able to keep using the bow he stole unless he comes up with a way to get more arrows. Stealing any more will just put all the sporting good shops under tighter watch and him potentially on a suspect list, and he’ll have to change disguise techniques, which is more time wasted. He could make them, if he could get the proper equipment. A forge of some kind.

And then there’s the matter of...Slade, and Shado, and the two people helping them. ‘John Diggle’ was easy to find after searching for information on his old family; he’s currently Thea’s personal bodyguard. ‘Felicity Smoak’ took a little more digging, but he found her eventually. Thea’s personal bodyguard and the head of the I.T. department at Queen Consolidated. Slade and Shado chose well, people who have skill and are close to Moira and Thea. He’s not too worried about Diggle or Smoak, but Shado and Slade will be a problem, Slade most of all.

Al Sah-him’s fingers curl a little in his pockets and he forces them to loosen.

He can’t get himself to kill Slade, can’t get himself to go through with killing Shado, either. It’s...frustrating, and...something else he doesn’t want to look at too closely right now, but he can’t do anything about it. If he couldn’t do it at his peak of being Al Sah-him, he won’t be able to do it now as something less than, which leaves him with only a few options. He could remove them from play by bodily harm or poisons, but- whatever’s left of Oliver Queen from the island resists those ideas, and he grits his teeth a little. He’ll need to find a way to...keep them off of him, somehow, keep them occupied, or at least...satisfied.

He turns down an alley while he thinks.

If he can’t maim, kill, or indefinitely incapacitate them, maybe he can give them something they want in exchange for something he wants. Most of his missions with the League were lethal, but there were some he was sent on with Sara that involved subtler means: exchanges and theft. He can’t steal from them, which leaves…

 _An exchange_ , he decides, turning left at the end of the alley and slowly winding his way to the low rent gym he found with showers further to the East. He has enough cash to bypass an I.D. check, and he hasn’t showered in a few days.

After that, he’ll find Slade again.

His heartbeat picks up a smidge and he takes a slow breath.

Tonight, most likely.

\-----

“Hey, dad,” Laurel smiles.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Lance replies, bending down to kiss her cheek before taking his seat opposite her at the table, “Sorry I’m late. Had to deal with some-”

“Extra work for the task force?” she supplies with a quirked brow and half smile.

“Yeah. That,” he replies, shifting in his seat a bit before settling, “Damn security camera footage was corrupted or something. We could’ve got a shot of the Archer.”

“Corrupt?” Laurel asks, brows furrowing.

“Yeah, something-something-tech speak. I didn’t understand much of it,” he replies, picking up the menu and giving it a quick scan before setting it down. They’ve been here just enough times he has a pretty good idea what he’s going to order. “But anyway, how are things?” he asks after a moment of quiet filled with the low chatter of neighbouring tables.

Laurel sets her own menu down and takes a sip of her drink, nodding as she swallows. “Good, good,” she answers, “The Adam Hunt thing was a surprise, but the evidence you found helped my case.”

“Adam Hunt,” Lance grunts, shaking his head as he leans forward on the table on his forearms, “That’s two vigilantes that have been in contact with you in some way or another. Between you and Thea Queen, I’m not sure who’s racking up the most points.”

“ _Dad_ ,” Laurel scolds, and he sits back, raising his hands in surrender.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes quickly. “They just- They just get to me. How is Queen? I mean Thea,” he makes himself ask.

“She’s okay,” Laurel answers, pausing when their waitress comes over. She smiles and gives her order, waits for her dad to give his and the waitress to leave before turning back to him with a frown. “I think she’s okay. I’m worried she’s getting into something again, but I don’t know what it is.”

“What do you mean?” Lance asks, sitting forward a little.

“She showed up yesterday but she was tense, and she looked like she’d been crying. I haven’t seen her like that since-...the anniversary,” she finishes quietly. _Of Oliver and Sara_ , she thinks, a little bitter but mostly just...heart broken.

Lance looks away, then down at the table, clasping his hands on the red and white checker pattern. “So you think it’s drugs again?” he eventually asks to break the tense, aching quiet, looking up.

“I don’t know,” Laurel replies, shaking her head a little, “I wonder if it’s just what happened with Hunt. It was so sudden and unexpected, and like you said, we’ve both had run-ins with the vigilante, even though this didn’t appear to be him.”

“The ‘Archer’,” Lance supplies, brows drawing low together, “You get a whiff of him at all, Laurel, you run.”

Laurel watches him, gripping her glass a little tighter. She sets it down on the table. “That bad?” she asks quieter, “I’ve seen what’s been in the news, but…”

“It’s not the same as seeing it in person, trust me. He’s worse than the other one,” Lance replies, low and vicious, “They’re both bad, but he’s worse. You catch any sign of him, you leave, you drop whatever you’re doing, and you tell Queen to do the same. I might not like that family, but I wouldn’t wish what happened to those college kids on anyone.”

Laurel presses her lips together and drops her eyes to the table, brows furrowing a little. She can’t promise she’ll just ‘drop’ a case she’s working on, but she will warn Thea.

\-----

Slade frowns down at his phone while they walk through the factory, only half listening to Felicity ramble about something or other.

_Joe: Is that you on tv in Starling?_

_Joe: Dad, text me back_

He taps the message box and hovers his thumb over the letterpad that pops up, but he can’t bring himself to press it, turning the screen off and pocketing the phone instead. What would he say? _‘Yes, I’m the vigilante running around Starling. No, I can’t tell you why’?_ Joe wouldn’t settle for that, and until Slade can come up with something to tell him that isn’t a lie or something that won’t instigate Joe into coming to look for him or asking questions he’s not going to answer, he can’t say anything. The silence is a ticking time bomb, he knows it, but at least it’s still ticking for the time being.

He feels a small shoulder nudge his bicep and darts a look over, finds Shado watching him with understanding eyes and Diggle to her back left observing them. Slade drags his eye forward, focusing back in on what Felicity’s rambling about as she gets the basement door open.

“I think we should at least get a plant,” she says, frowning as she leads the way down the stairs, heels _clicking_ on the cement, “And maybe a couple lamps. Those flood lights are _not_ great for my eyes-” she cuts off and Slade immediately tenses, reaching back for his gun as his eye darts around.

They all freeze on the stairs, the room dim but the ghost light coming in from the blue tarp covered window at the end enough to illuminate the figure in black standing in front of it. Diggle and Slade draw their guns while Shado reaches down for the knife tucked in her boot, Felicity shuffling to the wall as they slowly move forward ahead of her out onto the basement floor. Diggle inches towards the light lever while Slade watches the figure, sees two green points when the head lifts a little and his heartbeat picks up. The lights switch on with a hard, loud _click_ and-

“ _Oliver_ ,” Shado lets out, back straightening a little.

Oliver stands there, in black cargo pants, boots, and a black hoodie, hands in the hoodie’s front pockets. Slade can’t see a sword on him, or a bow and arrows, but that doesn’t mean he’s not armed.

“We need to talk,” Oliver says steadily, green eyes quickly taking all four of them in.

Shado says something in Mandarin and Oliver’s eyes flick back to her, but he doesn’t say anything.

“About...this?” Diggle hazards with a vague gesture between the five of them.

Oliver glances briefly to him before his eyes land on Slade. It feels like a weight, nearly pushes the breath right out of him. The Oliver he sees doesn’t have green eyes, doesn’t look so calm and in control. He rages and accuses, but he never looks so...composed.

“I’m going to be staying in Starling City for the time being,” Oliver starts calmly, “I need to know what it’s going to take for you to keep me out of _that_.” He nods his chin to the half mutilated cage at the opposite end of the room and the guilt kicks Slade hard in the gut, fingers curling a little at his sides, around his gun.

“We didn’t have much choice,” Felicity speaks up, half looking like she wants to bolt, arms gripping her tablet to her chest, “You were trying to kill your family.”

“I’m not here for explanations,” Oliver replies firmly with a hard look slanted her way, and her lips press together. He looks back to Slade. “I want to know what it’s going to take for you to leave me alone.”

“I’m not leaving you alone until you pull your head out of your ass,” Slade says just as firm, brows drawing low. Oliver’s lips flatten a little as his own brows lower and they stare one another down for a tense minute.

“What do you want?” Oliver demands.

“For you to spend time with us,” Shado steps in, both their eyes darting over to her. She stares back at Oliver, determined, but with something in her eyes that has Slade letting her take the lead. She was always able to handle Oliver better than he could, maybe she still can. “You will spend a minimum of three hours a day with us, here,” she continues, gesturing at the room, “Morning, noon, or night, as long as Slade or I am here. We will give you a phone we can text you on. Is this agreeable?”

Oliver frowns a little before his expression wipes clear, going neutral. He watches all four of them while he thinks and Slade tries to keep his breathing steady and even through the adrenaline trying to spike its way through his veins.

“If I agree, you will not drug, imprison, or stop me from doing what I need to do,” Oliver finally counters, eyes going hard.

“As long as it doesn’t involve your friends and family,” Shado returns. His lips twist a little but he nods once. “And you will not harm Felicity or Diggle,” she adds, gesturing over at them. Oliver nods again.

“When do we start?” he asks.

“Now,” Shado answers, raising a brow, “You’re not in a hurry to leave, are you?”

Oliver’s lips flatten but he turns and walks over to the wall, sitting down with his back to it and staring at the one across from it. Shado lets out a quiet breath and bends down to tuck her knife back into her boot.

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this,” Felicity mutters.

“My word was given,” Oliver says, quieter but like a hammer coming down in the tense silence, “You won’t be harmed by me.”

“Sorry if that’s not exactly reassuring, considering the last few days,” Felicity snips back. He turns his head a little and slants his eyes over to her and she swallows, visibly giving herself a little shake. “You see? _That_ is why I’m uncomfortable,” she says, then sighs quietly, looking to the three of them. “Are we sure about this?”

Shado tilts her head briefly to the side before walking forward, sitting down against the wall opposite Oliver and holding his stare.

Felicity blows out a breath and slowly walks over to the table, hesitantly setting her tablet down and slowly taking a seat. Diggle steps over to Slade’s right, keeping his eyes on Oliver.

“Are _you_ sure about this?” Diggle asks quiet and low.

Slade keeps his breathing steady and even. After a few moments, he slowly reaches back and tucks his gun back into the back of his jeans up under his jacket. He hears Diggle blow out a quiet breath and slowly holster his own.

“Okay,” Diggle says, rolling his shoulders out. He walks over and takes a seat on the second chair next to Felicity, who visibly relaxes a little more.

Slade debates with himself for a full minute before finally getting his feet to move, slowly walking over towards Shado with his eye glued on Oliver, who doesn’t look at him, even slants his eyes away when Slade gets close to directly across from him. Slade keeps his fingers from curling into fists and makes himself take a seat against the wall a couple feet from Shado. “You’re right, we do need to talk,” he starts. Oliver’s eyes flick over to him at that and nearly knock the breath right out of him again. It’s one thing seeing Oliver look at him poisoned and dazed and out of his head, or trying to kill him, it’s another to see him present and doing neither, but really looking at him. “There’s something you need to know about your mother.”

“Slade,” Shado cautions, looking over at him sharply.

Slade keeps his eyes on Oliver, has his attention, at least. “No lies, or this doesn’t work,” he replies low. He hears her pull in a breath and sees her sit back a little more against the wall in his periphery. “Your mother knew about the boat wreck,” he continues, and Oliver’s eyes narrow a little, “She’s been keeping the remains a secret in a storage warehouse just outside the city for at least the past two years.”

Oliver slowly sits up a little, eyes widened a fraction. “Why?” he asks, quiet and rough, sounds like it’s dragged out of him.

Slade takes a breath, wasn’t expecting him to say anything. “We don’t know yet. I was in the process of finding out when you interrupted me.”

Oliver’s eyes drop to the concrete, brows furrowing a little, then shift back up to Slade. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you deserve to know,” Slade answers.

Oliver’s brows furrow a little more and his eyes shift off to the side.

“We’re starting to think she might be hiding it from someone, or maybe for someone,” Felicity adds in quietly. Oliver’s eyes dart over to her and she swallows. “We don’t know for sure yet,” she forces out, “Just that she asked Wilson if ‘he’ sent him.” Oliver’s eyes search the floor again and Felicity asks, “What are you going to do?” eyes searching him, “You’re not going to hurt her, are you?”

Oliver slowly leans back against the wall, tilting his head back and shifting his eyes up to the ceiling. “I said I wouldn’t,” he grits out a little, then closes his eyes.

He’s quiet for the next three hours, doesn’t respond to Shado’s words, in English or Mandarin, or Felicity’s rare, wary prodding, doesn’t even move. Slade’s not sure what to say to him, what to ask, what to do. He feels just as stuck and frustrated in this situation with Oliver as he does in the one with Joe, acutely aware of his phone practically burning a hole into his thigh and Oliver sitting across the room.

At the end of the three hours, Oliver’s eyes open and he gets up and leaves, taking the stairs up and slipping out of the room without a glance or a word. Slade has to keep himself from following, fingers curling when Shado’s hand grips his tense arm.

“We’ll see him tomorrow,” she says quietly, steel in her voice, her own eyes still on the door like his.

\--

Oliver lets out a breath when he’s finally a block away from the factory, ducking his head a little as his shoulders come up, hands buried deep in his hoodie pockets. He keeps his eyes on the pavement as he walks, mindlessly wandering down one street then another while his thoughts twist and spiral and roam, as mindless as his steps.

He can still hear the sound of Shado’s voice, soft and gentle, insistent but calm, probing, familiar, like a gentle breeze through the trees on Lian Yu. The sound of Slade’s, low, rough, still frustratingly calming to hear, for all that it sets him on edge with everything attached to the person it belongs to.

Al Sah-him drags his eyes up and jerks to a stop, staring a little wide eyed up at the bricks lining the Queen property. How long has he been walking? He didn’t even notice-

His fingers curl into fists in his pockets and he takes a breath, then focuses on his hearing, looking around. There’s no guards patrolling up here yet, no soft shush of shoes on grass or the faint clack of soles on pavement.

He stares back up at the eight foot wall for one long minute, two, then slowly crouches down and leaps, clearing it and landing with barely a sound in the grass on the other side, hidden behind the trees lining the perimeter. He darts his eyes around, goes left, keeping his steps quick and silent.

He finds the side of the house his room’s on by memory, an old worn map he digs out and dusts off a little easier than he thought he could. He hides behind a tree when he hears steps, waits for the guard to slowly mosey past and then looks up, jumping up to the roof and landing on the balls of his feet without a sound. He reaches for the window, faintly surprised to find it’s unlocked, and quietly pushes it open, slipping down inside and pausing as he looks around.

His room looks exactly the same as he left it five years ago.

He slowly scans the bookshelves as he steps further inside, eyes catching on the dim gold glint of _The Odyssey_ before moving on, trying to ignore the memory that sprouts up. There’s a dip in the center of his bed like someone’s been laying on it, small and curved-

 _Thea_ , he realizes distantly, heart giving a dull thud. He forces it down, keeps moving his eyes. They snag on something out of the corner of his eye and he looks over, stepping closer to his old desk. The pictures of his family are still there, not a thing out of place even though his desk had to have been dusted off throughout the years: the one of all of them, him and Robert and Thea and his mother, him and Laurel, him and Laurel and Tommy, him and Thea. He stares for a minute before a sound catches his attention and his head whips up towards the door, slowly walking over and leaning close, turning his head to press his ear to it. The sound fades and disappears a room away and he pulls back, heading back over to the window and slipping out, quietly closing it behind him. He moves along the roof edge, rounds the corner to the long stretch of wall of the back of the house and keeps going, passing the dark windows of his room, the one next to it to pause outside the lit ones beyond it, slowly peering inside.

He stills.

Thea’s sitting cross legged on her bed, laptop on her lap. Her eyes are a little puffy and red, nose not much better like she’s been crying, and she’s glaring down at her computer, dark hair - her hair’s so long now - hanging over her shoulders.

He studies her, different from...last time. Last time she was a target, now she’s...something else, some nebulous grey-area he doesn’t know what to do with. Her hair is much longer than the last time he saw her as Oliver Queen, fourteen and barely up to his chest. She’s taller now, has lost most of the child softness around her cheeks. Her room is different too, all but a few of the stuffed animals gone, no little plastic toys, no bright pink playhouse still taking up residence in the corner.

She pushes her laptop off onto her bed and he refocuses, pulling back a little, stilling again when she starts sniffling, face slowly crumpling up until it collapses down into her hands. He sees her mouth open between them, corners twist down in harsh lines as she grits her teeth and his heart gives an unexpected, sharp twist with it, making his breath catch. She wipes with frustration at her eyes, glares down at her bed and mutters something to herself he can’t hear. Then she forces herself to her feet and stalks into the bathroom, flipping the light on before banging the door shut behind her.

He stays there for another minute, two, five. She comes back out and sits back on her bed, eyes a little more red and puffy than before. She reaches over and shuts her laptop, then curls up on her side, turned away from the window. She turns back over and he quickly pulls back from the window, pressing his back to the side of the house. The light goes off next to him and he stares down at the roof, the grass of the yard below and shoulder of the bodyguard that slowly passes by, struggling to keep his breathing steady and quiet against the squeeze in his chest.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, but eventually his breathing comes easier and he pushes himself up and heads back the way he came, pausing and heading around to Moira’s room, stopping to look inside the lit windows beyond the half drawn curtains. She’s in bed in one of her expensive nightgowns, back against the headrest and a photo album open in her lap. She presses a tissue to her red nose while Walter gently pulls her into his side with an arm around her shoulders, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her blonde hair.

Al Sah-him takes a breath and slips away, back the way he came, quietly drops back down to the ground and sprints for the trees, leaping up over the brick. He keeps going, doesn’t stop until he reaches the city and he’s forced to blend in with the growing traffic and bodies occupying the night.

 _Running away_ , that deep part of him whispers, and he grits his teeth.

 _I can’t go back_ , he thinks forcefully, ducking his head a little lower.

Was this what it was like for Sara? Did she see her old family like this, sneaking around on roofs and peeking through windows? Did she feel the same pain in her chest? The feeling of being torn too many directions like a stuffed bear in a child’s frantic hands?

 _Which part will I lose first?_ he wonders a little wildly, clenching his jaw and forcing the lick of hysteria down.

He ducks down an alley and takes off.

\--

“Please! _Please don’t kill me!_ ” Scott Morgan shouts, lights coming from below through the right side windows catching the edges of his dark blue suit as he runs around his desk for the back of the room. He hits the window and scrabbles at the wide pane of glass, fingers catching on the lock.

Al Sah-him stalks forward and drops his bow, Morgan spinning around at the sound of it hitting the floor as Al Sah-him pulls out the short blade at his waist.

“ _No!_ ” Morgan shouts, hands coming up as the right rim of his glasses catch the light, “ _Please!_ Whatever you want! _I’ll give you whatever you want **just please**_ -”

Al Sah-him stabs forward, sharp and hard, Morgan’s words choking off with a gurgle and a sharp _thunk_ as the blade hits the glass behind him, sending a small reverberation up Al Sah-him’s arm. Al Sah-him glares at Morgan’s wide eyes, teeth gritted on an animal sound, and viciously rips the blade out, sending blood spraying up the window in a streak. Morgan gags, blood gurgling up out of his mouth as his hands come up to his throat. He drops hard to his knees, falling back against the glass and sliding down to the side, bright red smearing behind him on the window.

Al Sah-him tries to take a breath past the anger in his chest, burning, hot, _consuming_.

He hates that Thea and Moira are upset. He hates that he _hates that_.

He squeezes his eyes shut and gives his head a hard shake, hand trembling around the hilt of the knife.

“ _Messy. Sloppy_ ,” Wintergreen hisses, a smirk in his voice on the next, “ _Animal_.”

“Shut up!” Al Sah-him shouts, throwing the blade at him. Wintergreen disappears as it embeds in the wall with a hard _thunk_ and Al Sah-him grits his teeth, breathing hard and heart beating harder. He looks back down at Morgan, staring for a long minute at his sightless eyes before he turns and leaves, ripping the knife out of the wall on the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think Oliver followed them there and then snuck in through the window he broke out of to stand in the dark and wait a minute for them to come down like an overdramatic, extra little shit then you are correct


	17. I know you’ll come to me, I wait in misery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for more bloody violent deaths
> 
> Whew yeah I definitely caught a cold or something. I'm not sure how this chapter is. My judgement's compromised fdjskl

“It’s kind of creepy, isn’t it?” Felicity whispers, leaning towards Diggle.

“What?” he asks quietly, looking up from his phone.

“The way he just sits there and...doesn’t move,” she answers.

He drags his eyes up to where Oliver’s sitting the exact same way he did yesterday, legs crossed and head tilted back, eyes closed. There’s a line of tension between his eyebrows that wasn’t there before and his shoulders are a bit stiffer, but for the most part, yeah, it’s the same.

“He doesn’t want to be here. We can’t exactly make him want to be,” he replies.

“Yeah, I know,” Felicity says, making a face, “Still. Part of me wonders if he might just be sleeping through this like it’s some kind of detention, but then I remember how many people he’s killed, and he didn’t get that skilled at it by sleeping through anything.” She forcefully focuses back down on her tablet.

Diggle raises an eyebrow at her but looks back. She’s got a point.

He shifts his eyes over.

Shado’s still trying to talk to him every so often, not as much as yesterday, but she hasn’t given up either, no matter how much silence she’s met with. Wilson, on the other hand, seems to just be winding up tighter and tighter next to her, shoulders a taut line beneath his leather jacket and eye focused intently on their guest, as stubbornly silent as Oliver, and Diggle’s not exactly sure how that’s going to come out. Two super soldiers, trained killers exploding at each other in an enclosed space with bystanders in the immediate vicinity doesn’t exactly sound like a good idea. Diggle would ask Shado to maybe try sitting a little farther down the room, but he’s more than a little sure she’ll just tell him ‘no’.

Felicity’s soft, “Oh,” draws his eyes back.

“What?” he asks.

She points at her tablet screen and he leans down closer to read.

“ _Scott Morgan, owner of Morgan Incorporated who control the water and power in the Glades, was found brutally murdered in his office early this morning by his secretary, Sherry Williams_.”

Diggle shares a look with Felicity and she tags the name, adding it to the algorithm she made with the others. They both look up when Shado asks something in Mandarin but again, Oliver doesn’t answer, doesn’t even open his eyes.

\-----

“Thea, are you okay?” Laurel’s concerned voice filters through and Thea blinks out of her daze, looking over.

“What?” she asks, reaching up and rubbing at her tired eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. It’s just stress.”

Laurel’s brows draw together and she looks around at the other employees, the volunteers, her and Thea an island in a sea of activity as they all hurry around. She leans a little closer, lowering her voice. “If you need to go home, you can,” she offers, “And if you need to talk...I know we haven’t always been the closest, but I do think of you as a friend. If you need anything, you can tell me.” Thea looks over again, an almost helpless, hopeless look on her face, and Laurel’s lips turn down a little.

“Thanks,” Thea says a little hoarsely, sniffling quietly before closing her eyes firmly and sitting up straight, rubbing below her eyes again and giving herself a shake. “I’ll be fine,” she says stronger, opening her eyes and focusing back down on the file open in front of her, “I just need to...deal with it. That’s what adults do, right?”

“Yes,” Laurel answers kindly, reaching over and gently setting a hand on her shoulder, drawing Thea’s eyes back. Laurel smiles. “But they don’t always do it alone. They also talk to each other when they really need to, even if it takes a little while.”

Thea slowly smiles a little, giving a small nod. Laurel retracts her hand and they both focus back on their work.

“You find that file Joanna was asking about?” Laurel asks.

“Yep- yes. Got it right here,” Thea answers, latching onto the distraction. She pulls the cream folder out of the small stack off to the side and reads the side label. “‘Cyrus Vanch’?” she asks, offering it over, “Who’s he?”

“He just got released yesterday on lack of evidence,” Laurel answers, expression turning into a storm cloud as she accepts the file, “We need to put him back in, somehow.”

“That bad?” Thea asks, makes a face, “Do I even want to know?”

“He’s linked to human trafficking, drug running, racketeering, and at least fifty-two different homicides,” Laurel lists off, flipping through the file as she pushes her chair back, “He’s living at his lawyer’s mansion right now, but I’m pretty sure he was Vanch’s first victim upon release.” 

Thea watches her get up and make a beeline straight for Joanna at the other side of the room, the two bending close as Laurel says something heatedly. Thea’s mind finally shifts off the situation with her brother and family, however briefly. If Vanch is that bad, maybe…

Her brows draw together and she reaches inside her pocket, thumbing the flip phone.

Maybe the vigilante can do something about it where the cops can’t?

She drops her eyes to her desk, then over to the stacks of files occupying it. How many of these can’t be solved by the police? How many get away on a technicality and put more people in danger?

She debates with herself the rest of the day, through every file she organizes, puts in the filing cabinets, helps other interns and lawyers find, all throughout lunch. On the way out the door at the end of the day and into the backseat of her bodyguard’s car, on the way home.

Her family is a wreck, even if Walter doesn’t seem to know why. She lost her dad, her brother, and even though Ollie’s still alive he’s not...Ollie, not the one she used to know, the one they buried an empty coffin for in a plot on the property and whose headstone she went to whenever she needed to talk to someone for the past five years. He’s alive, but he _died_ , she _thought_ he died, and even with that not being the case, the pain is still there, _worse_ now, because he’s back but he isn’t _back_. Laurel said she thinks of them as friends, and Thea thinks of Laurel as a friend, connected by a joint loss. Thea couldn’t stomach something happening to her because Laurel’s trying to do what’s right, not when Thea might be able to do something to keep her safe and get that guy off the streets, out of the city once and for all. So he doesn’t hurt anyone again, so no one has to feel loss like her and Laurel did _again_.

“Thank you,” Thea says as Diggle opens one of the mansion’s front doors for her, heading up the porch steps and ducking past him with a small, pinched smile. She heads straight for the stairs and up to her room, makes sure her bedroom door is firmly shut behind her and stands still in the silence for a long minute before finally making a decision. She makes sure she’s alone before pulling the flip phone out and opening it up.

\-----

Slade stares across at Oliver for the third night in a row, frustration still building high against the dam of his restraint. He twitches a little when he feels a vibration against his thigh and frowns, digging his phone out and checking the screen. He frowns further and hits ‘answer’, bringing it to his ear. “ _What?_ ” he growls quietly.

“ _Cyrus Vanch_ ,” Thea’s voice answers, “ _He just got released from prison the other day on a lack of evidence and the police can’t go after him without more_.”

“And?” Slade asks, raising a brow.

“ _ **And** he’s involved in human trafficking, drugs, and he’s killed over fifty people_ ,” Thea replies firmly, “ _My friend Laurel, Oliver’s friend and **ex-girlfriend** , is heading the case. Can you do something?_”

Slade sits back against the wall a little more, rolling his shoulders back. “Are you asking me to kill someone, Thea Queen?” he asks calmly, eyes on Oliver. Oliver’s crack open and he lowers his head, green eyes finding Slade’s.

“ _No- I- I don’t know_ ,” Thea stumbles out, pausing for a moment, “ _I just know he’s bad, he’s going to keep doing bad things, and my friend- **more people** might get caught in the middle of it, and I can’t- **I can’t lose anyone else**._ ”

Slade holds Oliver’s stare for a long minute, thinking it over, then finally sighs and pushes himself to his feet. “Fine,” he bites out, but she continues before he can hang up.

“ _Have you had any luck with my brother? At least **seen** him?_ ”

He pauses, studying Oliver while he tries to figure out what to tell her. Oliver stares back, not saying a word even though he can probably hear her. “I’m working on it,” Slade answers. Oliver’s brows draw down lower and Slade pulls the phone away, hangs up.

“What is it?” Shado asks, half ready to stand.

“Thea Queen wants me to look into someone named Cyrus Vanch,” he adds the last pointedly towards the other end of the room, hears Felicity’s fingers tap across her tablet’s keyboard. Oliver sits up in his periphery and Slade’s eyes dart back over.

“Got it,” Felicity says, breaking the silence, “Cyrus Vanch, went away for the murders of fifty-two people, all unconnected, human trafficking, drug running, racketeering...Yikes.” She looks up. “If Thea’s involved with this guy...I’m not saying I approve of you murdering people, but we should do something about this.”

Oliver stands and Slade turns fully towards him. “What are you doing?”

“Going with you,” Oliver answers.

“Why?” Slade demands.

“He’s my target,” Oliver replies simply. 

Slade’s eye narrows a little and he crosses the room, steps up close, staring up the couple inch height difference between them. “I can’t trust you,” he says low.

Oliver stares back down, eyes hard. “You don’t have to. Just point me and shoot.”

Slade eyes him for a long moment before looking back over his shoulder at Shado. She presses her lips together and glances between them for a moment before giving a nod. Slade looks back to Oliver and then heads over and gets his duffel bag open by the table, eye darting over to track Oliver heading for the stairs. 

“Twenty minutes, we meet back here. You don’t show, I’ll know you lied,” Slade says firmly.

Oliver’s mouth pinches but he inclines his head slightly before disappearing up the stairs and out of the basement.

Slade waits until his steps fade before looking back over at Shado. “This is a bad idea.”

“Maybe,” Shado admits, rising and heading over to her own bag. She digs her father’s green hood out and Slade pauses, eye dropping to it. She pulls it on, flipping the hood up. “But we’re running out of ideas.”

\--

Slade and Oliver run across the rooftops, two shadows dipped in black head to toe leaping across alleyways and over streets. It’s surreal to run with someone, jump the distances he needs to and have someone with him able to follow every step, every leap without difficulty.

Slade glances over briefly, notes Oliver took up position on his left instead of on his blind side and tries not to think too much about it as they head for the location Felicity gave them, pushing off a little harder from the next roof ledge to clear another street and the cars moving below.

They find the mansion up in the higher hills past the city, sequestered away up on a ridge surrounded by trees that bleed out into the surrounding forest. Slade comes to a stop behind a tree a few back from the yard of the property, Oliver a silent shadow at his left. It almost feels like old times, stalking the mercenaries on the island, and he tries to shake the feeling away. This is completely different.

They study the guard rotation for fifteen minutes before Slade finally says, “We’re moving,” into his bluetooth, darting to the right while Oliver goes left, taking opposite sides of the house.

He cuts down one guard, two, three, gets to four before he hears gunfire somewhere else in the mansion, gets to six and it stops. He pushes himself faster, cuts down another guard in one hall and a second in the neighbouring one. By the time he gets to ten and turns right in a long, white, body littered hallway, he finds Oliver in the living room, a tall black wraith in the middle of white carpet and furniture splattered in red. A blonde woman lies dead off to the left, eyes staring blankly at the wall with a small gun a foot from her hand, and Vanch lies on the floor, a stab wound through the heart, a quick, clean kill like the ones Slade passed on the way.

He shifts his gaze up, follows the blood dripping from Oliver’s katana to the white carpet up to his half-masked face and green eyes, staring down at Vanch.

“I found no more guards,” Slade says low.

Oliver flicks his sword and sends more red to the carpet, sheathing it and turning towards him. Slade keeps his own drawn and waits for Oliver to walk out, watching and then following him out of the room.

They run back to the city, slowing at its borders and slipping into the shadows, up to the rooftops away from most of the cameras and wandering eyes. 

“Our three hours are up,” Oliver says quietly and splits off from him, dropping over the edge of the roof into the alley below. Slade watches him go, disappear into the shadows between buildings. After a few minutes he hears light steps and looks over, Shado coming to a stop at his side.

“Well, he didn’t try to kill you,” she comments, “Think he knew I was watching?”

“Probably,” Slade answers, looking back down at the empty alley before making himself turn away and head back to the factory.

\-----

Thea pushes open the door to C.N.R.I. the next morning, covering her yawn with a hand and taking a sip of her mocha. She pauses when she finds Laurel, Joanna, and a small group of people gathered at the tv in the right corner of the main room and heads over, slowing to a stop when the words register:

“ _Cyrus Vanch, released yesterday on a lack of evidence and previously convicted for human trafficking, racketeering, drug running, and the murder of fifty-two unconnected individuals was found dead this morning in his lawyer’s home, along with his girlfriend Vivian Smith and his twenty-four personal guards. Sources say almost all were found with sword inflicted wounds, three with gunshots. We’re left wondering if this was the local vigilante ‘Ghost’, who has been quiet otherwise, or if it was the new outlaw known as ‘The Archer’, who some are already calling ‘Wraith’, in lieu of his black, rarely caught appearance_.”

Thea just manages to keep from dropping her coffee cup, jolting a little when Laurel turns around and calls her name.

“Did you see this?” Laurel asks, looking back at the tv, “That’s the second time something like this has happened.”

“That’s...yeah,” Thea answers hollowly, fingers tightening around her cup. Her stomach roils and she covers her mouth with a hand.

“Are you okay?” Laurel asks, looking back with concerned eyes, reaching for her shoulder. 

Thea pulls back and nods, pointing quickly as she rushes out of the room with, “Bad coffee!” dropping it in the trash on the way to the bathroom. She manages to get in and reach a toilet in time, banging open a stall door and bending at the waist as her coffee comes back up, coughing and gagging, one hand pressed to her stomach. She spits out the last of it after a minute, groaning and flushing the toilet before slowly turning around, walking across the tile to the row of sinks. She washes her hands, cups her hands for water and rinses out her mouth, turning the faucet off and reaching over to pull down a few paper towels, drying her hands off and wiping at her mouth. She throws them away in the trash below the dispenser and stops, looking at herself in the mirror.

“What did I do?” she whispers to herself, the flip phone like a heavy weight in her pocket. She looks around, makes sure she’s alone before digging it out, flipping it open and hitting speed dial before bringing it to her ear. It rings once and then _clicks_ , but Wilson doesn’t say anything. “What did I do?” she asks quietly after a moment, voice shaky and body trembling, “I got all those people killed.”

“ _No, they would have died anyway_ ,” Wilson finally says, voice low and calm and _sure_. 

She squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head. “That doesn’t make it _better!_ And you can’t know that!”

“ _I can_ ,” he replies.

“ _How?_ ” she demands, voice a rough croak. She covers her eyes with a hand, squeezing them shut against the sting building at the backs of them.

“ _Because your brother was going to kill them whether you brought them to my attention or not_ ,” Wilson replies, and she straightens, slowly lowering her hand.

“What do you mean?” she asks quietly.

“ _You’ve seen the sword and arrow deaths in the news, the one percenters_ ,” Wilson says, and she swallows, dread curling in her gut, “ _Those were his. Vanch was on his list_.”

“What list? Wait, you’ve _talked_ to him?” she demands, anger flickering through the shock and nausea.

“ _Not exactly. He hasn’t been very communicative_ ,” Wilson answers.

“I want to speak to him,” she demands, dropping her shoulders back.

“ _He’s not here_ ,” Wilson replies, “ _And even if he were, he won’t talk_.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” she demands again, gritting her teeth, hand a tight fist at her side.

There’s a pause, then, low and serious, “ _I will never lie to you, Thea Queen_.”

She forces herself to breathe, eyes stinging again. “ _Please_ ,” she breaks after a minute, _begs_ , “I want to see him.”

“ _Not yet_ ,” Wilson replies, voice going just a tiny bit softer, “ _I’m working on it_.”

“ _How?_ ” she asks, heart clenching in her chest so tight she can barely _breathe_ with it.

A knock at the door and a, “ _Thea?_ ” makes her jolt, whipping around and wiping at her eyes.

“Be out in a minute!” she calls.

“ _I don’t know yet_ ,” Wilson says, enough frustration in his rough voice that she believes him.

“Then how do you know you can help him?” she asks.

“ _Because I’m not stopping until he goes home_ ,” Wilson answers.

She just tries to breathe for a minute, get her racing heartbeat back down.

“ _Go to work_ ,” Wilson says, “ _Let me handle your brother_.”

“I don’t think I trust you,” she says, glancing to her reflection in the mirror again, “I don’t think I trust myself.”

“ _True trust is a rare commodity_ ,” Wilson replies, “ _You have to earn it, even from yourself._ ”

She blinks at that while he hangs up. She slowly pulls the phone away and ends the dead line, pocketing it. She looks over at herself in the mirror again and takes a breath to steel herself, wiping at her eyes one more time before heading for the door.

\--

“That was surprisingly helpful advice,” Shado comments from where she’s sharpening a small blade. She raises a brow at him and he glances away, pocketing his phone. “Now if only you could say something to Oliver.”

“He and I never communicated well with words,” he replies.

“So don’t use them,” she returns, holding the blade up and studying the edge in the light when he looks over, “Things were different last night. Maybe we were going about this wrong.” 

His brows draw together and he looks away again. “I can’t trust him not to lose himself in a fight,” he says, “Last night wasn’t a precedent. You remember the island.”

“I do,” Shado replies, looking over and lowering the knife, “But he doesn’t trust us anymore, clearly. We need to build it back up again. Any ideas?”

Slade frowns as he stares out the grimy factory windows, eye searching the buildings stretched out below as an idea slowly takes root.

\-----

He goes out an hour before the scheduled meet up with Oliver and checks the Queen mansion from afar, spots Thea Queen on her laptop in her room through his binoculars and Moira Queen in the living room with her husband, Walter, before rounding back into the city to make his next stop. He slows when he sees a dark shape perched near the raised ledge of the roof near his usual spot, tensing before he realizes who it is. He lowers himself down as he approaches, stopping a few feet to the right. “What are you doing here?” he asks low and gruff.

Oliver barely glances over, eyes quickly focusing back on the apartment across the street. Laurel Lance laughs at something on tv through the window, leaning back into Tommy Merlyn’s chest, his arm resting along the back of the couch while the other hand holds the popcorn bowl on the edge of the cushions. “What are you?” Oliver quietly returns.

“Making rounds,” Slade answers after a minute, “Your girlfriend’s on my list.”

Al Sah-him frowns a little at that, dragging his eyes back over. 

He wasn’t sure what he’d feel when he finally saw Laurel again, didn’t think about it when Sara mentioned seeing her family, but he wasn’t expecting the...conflict he feels. He’d been so focused on Laurel for so long, before the island, during the wreck, after it, most of it guilt. He’d regretted the cheating he’d done with others while he was doing it, then with Sara, then regretted bringing Sara with him on the boat at all. All he could think about for months on the island was getting back to his family, getting back to Laurel, to apologize, to try and make amends even though the odds of that happening were slim to none. She’d never have forgiven him for what he did with Sara, to Sara.

And then things...changed. The island became home, in its own way, the world beyond it seemed like a mirage, a gold fantasy outside the real world, and Laurel a bird perched high on a pillar he had no hope of climbing to reach. And then Ivo came, and the Amazo, Sara, the mirakuru, the League. His old life became a burned chapter in a battered book, something to be left behind and never touched again. But now he’s here.

He drags his eyes away from Slade, back to her, shifts them to Tommy. 

He and Tommy had been friends since they were kids. It...twinges, somewhere deep that it’s the two of them together, Laurel and Tommy. The one woman he’d truly loved and the one man he knew the longest, trusted the most, but it’s poetic, in a way. Maybe this is what he deserves, another nail in the coffin he left behind on Lian Yu and here, in Starling.

He shifts, about to move when Slade holds a hand out towards him and Al Sah-him stops, looking over, annoyed at himself for obeying. Slade’s looking at the roof ledge, listening to- “Moira’s been attacked,” Slade reports low, and Al Sah-him’s heart skips a beat. “She’s at Starling General.”

Slade moves and Al Sah-him follows before he realizes he’s doing it, not looking back.

\--

Al Sah-him stares into the hospital room from the roof opposite, standing at Slade’s left. Moira’s laying in a hospital bed, almost small against the white sheets. She appears uninjured, but it’s hard to tell from this far.

“What happened?” he grits out quietly.

“Drive by shooting,” Slade reports, “A man named Paul Copani was killed while speaking with your mother outside Queen Consolidated an hour ago. She was working late.”

“Who is Paul Copani?” Al Sah-him asks lower.

“Apparently,” Slade answers after a moment, lowering his hand from the bluetooth under his mask, “He works for the Bertinelli family. Local crime family.”

Al Sah-him lifts his head a fraction as the name registers, feels eyes on him.

“You know it,” Slade deduces.

Al Sah-him turns and heads for the edge of the roof, pausing and glancing back when he hears quiet steps follow.

“I’m coming,” Slade says, holding his stare.

Al Sah-him turns and drops down to the fire escape without a word, already jumping down for the next level when he hears boots land on the metal above him.

\--

They run, Oliver pushing him faster than last time, Slade following Felicity’s directions in his ear since he doesn’t have time to pull up a map and look himself. Oliver’s a ghost to his left as they jump between one roof and the next, barely touching down long enough for any sound to register even to Slade’s ears.

They quickly close in on the mansion up ahead and Slade slows, but Oliver doesn’t stop, runs right up to the front doors while drawing his sword out and beheading the two guards stationed outside before bowling through the doors like a wrecking ball. Slade hears gunshots as he follows and pushes himself faster, cursing quietly and drawing his own sword and gun.

“ _What’s happening?_ ” Felicity asks in his ear.

“Kid’s losing it,” he grunts, has a hard flash of deja vu and shoves it away.

He spots a head laying six feet from its body next to the curving staircase and another body slouched against the white wall, a red smear of blood above it before a bullet catches the kevlar covering his back and he whips around, stabs his sword through the incoming guard’s gut and listens past the choking, trying to pinpoint where Oliver went as he yanks his sword out and lets the body drop. 

He hears more gunshots and shouts in the next room, moving further into the house, is about to chase them when more guards come down the stairs, firing. Slade lets out a frustrated growl and charges up the stairs, shooting one in the head, another in the gut before stabbing his sword through the man’s chest, pushing the body forward and using it as a shield for the other guard’s fire. He kicks one into the far wall, hears bones crack and cave with the force as he shoves the body off his sword and stabs it through the next one’s skull.

A few more come out of the woodwork and he’s quick, but it’s still too long before he can jump the railing and land back on the first floor, running through the next room and back further into the house. There’s blood and bodies everywhere, dark red streaked up the walls, across the floor and furniture, the large flat television screen and across the fireplace. He finally finds Oliver in the last room back by an ornate, polished, dark wood bar, a man pinned to it with Oliver’s sword through his shoulder.

“ _Who attacked Moira Queen?_ ” Oliver demands, voice a low growl through his mask. Another guard comes running through the left doorway and Slade raises his gun and shoots, Oliver’s wild, furious eyes barely glancing away long enough to register him.

“Do you know who I am?!” the man demands through gritted teeth, expression pinched in anger and lined in pain, “Did the Triads send you?!”

Oliver twists the blade in his shoulder and the man throws his head back on a sharp, loud shout. “ _Who. Attacked. Moira. Queen?_ ” Oliver bites out.

“I don’t know!” the man shouts, eyes flying back open, “I swear! We’ve been getting hit too! I’ve been trying to find out who it is for _weeks!_ ” Oliver rips his sword out and the man barely gets a chance to scream before his head is rolling across the floor and the sound is cut off, Oliver taking a few steps back as the body falls and hits the floor with a hard _thud_ , blood spilling across the white marble out of the neck.

“ _NO!_ ” a woman shouts, Slade’s gun coming up as Oliver whirls around. She stops in the doorway in a dark purple dress and tall heels, long brown hair cascading over one shoulder. Her wide, blue, distraught eyes stare down at the man’s head, the man’s eyes staring off to the side towards the glass doors to the backyard, and she slowly drops to her knees, shaking her head. “ _No…_ ” she says quieter, broken, “He was _mine_ to kill!”

Oliver quietly walks over and she drags her eyes up, expression slowly twisting as she stares up at him.

“You’re looking for whoever attacked Moira Queen?” she asks, voice hard and hoarse. He stares down at her and she holds it, unlinching. “It was _me_ ,” she says, “I was trying-” She cuts off as his sword goes through her chest, choking a little with wide eyes. He holds her stare for a moment before yanking his sword out and letting her drop to the the side, hitting the floor. Blood pours out of her wounds, pooling around her pale form front and back along the floor.

Oliver keeps still and Slade watches him warily, keeping his distance. His eyes drop to the tight grip Oliver has on his sword, the blood splattered across his black clothes, reflecting in the warm light.

“Kid,” he says quietly.

Oliver straightens a little, shoulders taut. “I’m not...I’m not that anymore.”

Slade watches him, looks around the room, at the blood on the floor, the walls, the decapitated heads. The kills were quick, but they weren’t clean; they were furious, borderline out of control, not at all like last night and more like the island, if more skilled.

Slade looks back up, holstering his gun. “I know,” he says, watches Oliver’s back straighten just a little more, “You’re not the same. Just like I’m not.”

“ _It’s not the same_ ,” Oliver says, low and angry. This is the most Slade’s gotten him to talk since the cage.

“You think I don’t get it?” Slade asks, “Kid, I might be the _only_ one who gets it.” He walks over to the bar and grabs two liquor bottles, breaking the tops off against the edge of the bar and walking back around, heading out of the room. “Come on,” he orders quietly, a little surprised to hear Oliver follow a moment later.

\--

Al Sah-him watches the mansion burn, fires eating up the expensive curtains and walls, the bodies inside. He lowers his head a little, eyes dropping to the grass beyond the trees they’re ensconced behind. “Why did you do this?” he asks quietly. Slade doesn’t owe him anything. If one of them owes the other something, it’s _him_. He started this, all of this. The fire will destroy most of the evidence, save for the decapitations. It doesn’t erase the brutality, adds to it, but the...symbolism, is there. ‘Cleanse by fire’. “You think this will erase what I did?”

“No,” Slade answers, low and steady, voice still frustratingly calming to hear after everything, “But I think this alleviates some of the sharpness from it.”

Oliver looks over at that, at Slade’s face, no longer hidden by his mask and as steady looking as his voice. Slade’s dark eye looks back and something in Oliver’s chest squeezes a little. It’s too easy, falling into this rhythm, talking to him, believing him. He drags his eyes away, back to the fire.

“This isn’t like diluting alcohol,” he says, low and angry, fingers curling into fists again. His sister is going to see this on the news, Moir-...his mother. They’re going to know what kind of animal he is, even if they don’t know it’s him right away.

“This isn’t ‘like’ anything,” Slade replies, “It is what it is.”

Oliver’s jaw clenches. He watches for another few minutes before making himself drag his eyes away, turning and heading deeper into the forest. Slade’s steady steps follow his.


	18. Keep climbing the mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for a makeshift operation thing, ow

“How are we gonna stop this guy if we can’t even get _eyes_ on him?!” Lance lets out, gesturing sharply at the crime scene photos pinned up on the board. Charred bodies, decapitated heads, the hollow remains of the Bertinelli mansion. They’re still waiting on the dental I.D.s, but just by count and body type, it looks like the whole family was there and the personal bodyguards. All of them. Wiped out. In one night.

“I know it’s wrong, but...he also did us a favor,” an officer pipes up, Lance’s head whipping around, “With whoever was hunting down the Bertinelli family’s operatives the past few weeks, tension between them and the Triads was about to reach a breaking point. Now, at least a crime war won’t erupt out on the streets.”

“And that makes this _okay?!_ ” Lance demands, stepping close. Lucas steps between them, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“No, I’m just saying…” the officer trails off, swallowing a little, “It’s not good, but it’s not without its benefits.”

“‘Benefits’,” Lance spits, rounding away when Lucas gives him a nudge. He stalks back to his desk, dropping down into his seat and pulling open the report from the Vanch massacre. 

Two different kinds of sword wounds were found, one supposedly from some kind of Japanese sword and the other from some mishmash that the coroner said was probably a custom job, which should’ve been great news and given them a lead, but the amount of customized swords in the world was too much to parse through and nothing useable came up when they ran the shape of the blade marks. No one’s reported a missing Japanese sword in the past few weeks so they can’t follow that lead either, which isn’t exactly surprising. If it was stolen, whoever lost it probably realized who took it and doesn’t want to speak up.

The police captain walks out from his office and they all look up, Lance jumping to his feet.

“We’ve got orders from the Commissioner for the task force,” the Captain announces loud and clear. Lance straightens. “It is now shoot to kill, for _both_ vigilantes. Find those bastards and take them down.”

“ _Sir!_ ” they all chime, Lance’s fingers curling into tight fists at his sides.

\-----

“Thea?”

Her eyes dart up and she sniffs, rubs at her cheeks, her eyes.

“Thea, sweetheart,” Moira says, gentle but urgent, hurrying over and taking a seat on the edge of her bed, reaching up to brush her bangs back, “Darling, what is it?” Thea gestures to the right at the tv against the wall and Moira looks over, reads the caption on the muted screen:

“- _Bertinelli mansion was found burned down. The bodies found inside are still being identified, but sources say they died violently, some decapitated and many exhibiting sword inflicted wounds_.”

“It was him, wasn’t it,” Thea says hoarsely, sniffling, “Ollie.”

“Oh, Thea,” Moira says gently, turning back to her. She reaches up and pulls Thea in close, Thea’s arms coming up around her in return. “I don’t know for sure, but...yes, I think so.”

“How could he do that? Just...kill those people that way,” Thea says hoarsely into her shoulder, “I know they weren’t good but- how can he just-”

“ _Shh, shh_ ,” Moira shushes her gently, heart a dull ache in her chest at the sound of her daughter in distress, at the thought of her _son_...doing those things. “There’s still a lot we don’t know,” she says softly, pulling back after a moment to look Thea in the eye, “But we’ll get answers, we’ll find out what your brother’s doing, and why. We _will_.”

“ _When?_ ” Thea begs, “Mom, when? I want to see him. I want to hear his voice. It’s- _hell_ , waiting.”

“I know, sweetheart, _I know_ ,” Moira replies emphatically, gripping her shoulders, “But we have to. We can’t find him on our own, we can’t go to the police. They never tell you this, but waiting requires the greatest strength.” She ducks her head down a little to catch Thea’s eyes again when they veer away, holding her gaze. “We have to be strong, Thea.”

“What about Walter?” Thea asks after a moment, quieter and sniffing again, “Are we going to tell him?”

“No,” Moira replies slowly, shaking her head a little, “Not yet. For now, this is a matter that stays between us. We’ll tell Walter when we know more, when Oliver is closer to coming home. Until then…” she trails off. 

Thea drops her eyes to her lap, closing them firmly. More tears slip down her cheeks and she wipes them away, then gives a short nod. Moira bends close and presses a kiss to her forehead, then pulls her into another hug, resting her cheek against the side of Thea’s head and looking out the window as Thea’s arms wrap back around her.

No one can know about Oliver, not yet, not Walter, and not…

She presses her lips firmly together, holding Thea a little tighter. 

Not _him_ , either.

“Does it make me a bad person?” Thea mumbles against her shoulder after a minute, drawing Moira’s attention back.

“Does what make you a bad person?” she asks softly.

“He did all those- those terrible things,” Thea gets out, “But I still want to see him.” Thea’s grip tightens around her. “I still want to see him more than _anything_.”

“No, dear,” Moira replies, reaching up to brush a hand down the back of Thea’s hair, “No. I want that too.”

Thea cries again and Moira can feel the tears soaking into her blouse, but it’s just cloth. It’s unimportant. All the money in the world means nothing if her children aren’t home, both of them.

\-----

“ _We have determined that the Bertinelli family and their bodyguards were killed by the vigilantes known as Ghost and Wraith, formerly ‘the Archer’. The brutality of this crime…”_ Police Commissioner Nudocerdo trails off, looking down to his podium briefly before his eyes shift back up to the camera, _“Was far worse than the Vanch massacre and any that came before it. Many of the bodies were mutilated, beheaded, then burned in a fire that consumed the entire mansion. We’ve managed to identify three of the bodies as Frank Bertinelli, his daughter Helena Bertinelli, and Frank Bertinelli’s head of security, Nick Salvati. Because of the nature of these crimes,”_ he continues stronger, _“We have increased the task force’s orders from shoot when found resisting arrest, to shoot on sight. We want and **need** to keep these streets safe, and these two are doing anything but. They are **not** vigilantes, they’re serial killers. If you have any sightings to report or tips for the police, we have created a hotline with the contact number to follow. Thank you_.”

“This is _reeeally_ not good,” Felicity says into her bluetooth, watching the broadcast another moment before closing the browser window and trying to focus back on her work, “Any chance you think we can get Wilson to take a break for maybe a week?”

“ _It’s not him I’m worried about_ ,” Diggle replies, voice hushed on the other end of the line.

Felicity’s fingers pause on her keys before she starts typing again. “Right. I can see how _he_ would be _way_ less likely to stay in for a night, let alone seven of them, at the minimum. I’m going to call Shado.” She reaches up and taps her bluetooth, dialing the other number.

“ _Hello?_ ” Shado answers after a ring.

“Hey, Shado, it’s me. Felicity. Which you could...probably tell,” Felicity babbles, hears Shado huff and keeps going, “Did you see the news report?”

“ _I did_ ,” she answers somberly, “ _I’m sure Slade has as well_.”

“Yeah, Diggle and I are more worried about the _other_ one,” Felicity says, glancing over towards her open office doorway to make sure it’s empty.

There’s a pause, and then Shado makes a low, considering sound. “ _I’ll see what I can do_.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Felicity adds quickly, “I just wanted to make sure you knew what was going on. Communication, and all that. Go team.” She punches the air a little, ducking her head and glancing towards her doorway again as she awkwardly lowers her hand back to her keyboard.

“ _I appreciate it_ ,” Shado replies with a smile in her voice, “ _I’ll call Slade_.”

“Okay,” Felicity says, smiling, “Bye.”

“ _Goodbye_.”

\-----

“Thea,” Laurel greets, pausing at the look on her face. Her eyes are a little more red under the black eyeliner than they were yesterday and she’s walking slower, that lost, hopeless look on her face again. “Thea,” she repeats more gently when Thea doesn’t look up, closing the distance between them and reaching a hand for her arm. 

Thea jolts slightly, eyes darting up, then huffs a breath, shaking her head and pressing a hand to her forehead. “Sorry,” Thea says quietly, voice rough like she’s been crying again, “Sorry. I just...I’m okay.”

Laurel’s brows draw together. “Are you sure you want to be here today?” she asks softer.

“Yeah- yes,” Thea answers, dropping her hand and lifting her head, “I think if I stay home I’ll just...think about everything going on and stress even more.”

Laurel studies her for a moment before nodding, turning and guiding Thea over to their desks. “No phone calls today,” she says, gesturing to a stack of files on Thea’s desk, “Just organize those alphabetically and file them away. I’ve got a full box in the back whenever you’re ready for it.”

“Okay,” Thea breathes, shoulders rolling back like she’s going into battle, “Okay.” She takes a seat at her desk and Laurel watches her for another moment before heading over towards Joanna, worrying her lower lip.

\-----

 _“We have increased the task force’s orders from shoot when found resisting arrest, to shoot on sight. We want and **need** to keep these streets safe, and these two are doing anything but. They are **not** vigilantes, they’re serial killers. If you have any sightings to report or tips for the police, we have created a hotline with the contact number to follow. Thank you_.”

“ _Uh, oh_ ,” Ivo says while Al Sah-him closes the browser, pushing the laptop lid closed, “ _Guess the police didn’t appreciate that little bonfire last night. The decapitated bodies probably didn’t help either.”_

Al Sah-him ignores him, walking to the workshelf his bow is sitting on and counting the arrows he has left in the quiver.

“ _Still going out?_ ” Ivo asks, lazily pacing by the clock face window, “ _You really do have a death wish don’t you? Maybe you could call **Slade** for help_ -”

Al Sah-him hears a quiet buzz and his eyes dart over to the phone on the shelf next to the laptop.

“ _Speak of the devil_ ,” Ivo comments.

It vibrates against the wood again, low and insistent, and Al Sah-him finally walks over, picking it up and flipping it open.

‘ _Police now shoot to kill’_ , the first text reads, then:

 _‘Don’t do anything stupid_ ’

Al Sah-him snaps the phone shut, pausing a moment before setting it down and pushing his laptop back open, pulling up the information he’s gathered on his next target.

Albert Davis: a millionaire who donates to museums on the surface. Beneath that: someone who kills to obtain occult and supernatural artifacts, using the museums he donates to to transport the stolen goods, allegedly. He’s been getting a lot of shipments in lately and is getting a big one in tonight from somewhere far East, so he’ll be easy to find at the docks.

Al Sah-him closes the laptop again and heads back over to his bow, grabbing the quiver and strapping it on before glancing up to the clock face window. Gold-orange light comes through, warm and muted through the smoked glass around the stark black, slowly ticking clock hands. The sun will be down soon.

“ _What are you doing, son?_ ”

He stills mid-reach for his bow, heart skipping a beat and hand hovering over the dark green metal. He takes a breath and manages to unstick himself, grabbing it. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” he asks quietly, almost inaudible.

“ _Not at the cost of your life_ ,” Robert replies. Al Sah-him keeps his eyes down, acutely aware of the white, light blue, and khaki shifting in his periphery. “ _I gave mine to save yours, not damn it_.”

Al Sah-him lets out a breath, not-quite a scoff. “You damned it in the same breath.” 

‘Survive. Right my wrongs’. That’s not freedom. The list in the book isn’t a release, it’s a chain around his ankles and neck, dragging him back down into the damn current that almost took him the first time. He’s been slowly realizing, if it wasn’t Fyer’s keeping a leash on him on the island, if it wasn’t Ivo keeping him strapped to a damn table like a lab rat, it was the League giving him purpose while simultaneously putting a collar on him, and his father giving him life while simultaneously taking it away. Sara was right, at least, giving him the book is helping him find his way, but it’s also giving him an outlet for all the emotions he tries to ignore day in and day out from the rocks he’s been slowly overturning during meditation and the emotions he’s been having a harder time keeping a lid on.

Slade trying to help him, Shado trying to talk to him, his mother and Thea crying their eyes out for who he used to be, the hallucinations he sees that he knows aren’t real, can’t actually hurt him, but their words twist knives in his chest just the same. He’s haunted, and damned, and putting even more blood on his hands, but they’re already covered in it, so adding more won’t make much of a difference.

“ _It isn’t ‘like’ anything. It is what it is._ ”

Slade was right, too. Four years ago, that might’ve made him laugh.

“ _I don’t want you throwing away your life for this_ ,” Robert says.

Al Sah-him grabs his bow and turns, heading straight for the door in the floor. “I’m not doing this for you,” he says bluntly back, ignoring Robert and Ivo in his periphery and the phone Slade gave him buzzing on the work shelf as he takes the stairs down, closing it up into the ceiling above him before pulling his mask up over the lower half of his face and heading out.

\--

He keeps low as he runs along the edge of the rooftops under the cover of night as he makes his way down to the docks, leaping across alleyways and streets, trying to stick as close to the shadows as he can. Just because he’s choosing not to pay the police any mind, doesn’t mean he wants to actively draw their attention, especially before he even gets Davis’ name crossed off the list.

He gets to the last building before the ship yard and drops down to the pavement, sprinting for the fence and scaling it in one jump, landing silent on the other side and taking off for the shipping containers to the left. He jumps up one, two to the top and leaps from one stack to the next, silent and quick as he scans the area on his way up the dock. It takes a few minutes, but eventually he spots the man from the photos, white hair and large tan coat hanging down to his ankles, gesturing to men in black gear loading large crates into the back of a truck. Al Sah-him slows, kneeling down and reaching back to draw and notch an arrow, taking aim. Davis gestures at the workers again, half turning this way and that. Al Sah-him takes a steadying breath as he aims for Davis’ head, letting the breath out slow-

He grunts, jerking slightly as a sharp pain hits the back of his shoulder and his shot goes wide. He forces himself up and runs when the guards below whip towards him and start firing, Davis making a run for it with a shouted, “ _He’s here!_ ” Al Sah-him jumps from metal shipping container to metal shipping container while reaching back and ripping the knife out of his shoulder. He tosses it aside, looking over between jumps to try and pinpoint the trajectory it came from. A Chinese woman with white hair runs along the perimeter fence below, four men behind her and- six more coming towards him from up ahead.

 _Trap_ , his mind whispers.

Al Sah-him grits his teeth and clears the next container, dropping to the ground and sprinting for the warehouse up ahead, ignoring the sound of gunfire and the sting to the back of his thigh and side, bullet going deep. He runs into the warehouse and leaps up the crates ahead, twisting on the next jump to spin mid-leap while notching another arrow and firing, taking out one of the Triad agents as they follow him inside.

\--

“Oh good, you’re here,” Felicity says as she makes her way down the stairs into the basement. 

Slade glances over briefly from where he’s leaning back against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Only because you convinced Shado to convince me,” he replies, giving Shado a pointed look and somehow managing to be even broodier than usual.

Shado shrugs shamelessly, only briefly glancing up from her phone.

“Who are you texting?” Felicity asks, setting her bag down on the table and digging her tablet out.

“My sister,” Shado replies distractedly, “I told her I was coming to America but not much else. Where’s Diggle?” she returns, turning her phone screen off and pocketing it.

“Still watching Thea,” Felicity answers, taking a seat in front of her tablet and pulling up her algorithm and news reports, “She worked a little late today. He said he’s on his way.” She looks up. “Any luck with Oliver?”

“No,” Slade answers shortly, tense, “I’ve texted him three times.”

 _Ah. That would explain the broodiness_ , Felicity thinks, eyes darting back down when her tablet _pings_. “...Oh,” she says, thoughts going blank for a second.

“What?” Shado asks, stepping over and bending down to look.

“I think I just found him,” Felicity says, turning the sound up.

“ _Shots fired at Starling City Docks, reports of vigilante sighting and Triad. Task Force please respond_ ,” says a female operator voice.

“You hacked into the police dispatch?” Shado asks while Slade moves, pulling his gear out.

“I did,” Felicity answers, worried eyes darting to Wilson, “You’re going?”

Wilson doesn’t respond, already pulling his black tank top off and Felicity quickly averts her eyes, cheeks warming while Shado pulls away. He might be a jerk, but she’s not _blind_.

“Should I come?” Shado asks.

“No, stay here,” Slade answers, “There’s too many guns and we may need your medical knowledge when I get back.”

Felicity looks back over after a few minutes and watches Wilson tap the bluetooth line open before pulling his mask on over it. She shudders a little. It’s still creepy. “Don’t get shot!” she calls as he darts up the stairs, trying to keep the worry out of her voice.

 _He’ll be fine_ , she thinks, looking back to her tablet as her brows draw together, _Super Serum. He’ll be totally fine_.

\--

“ _You and your associate killed two of mine,_ ” the white haired woman calls, voice echoing a little around the warehouse. Al Sah-him keeps his back pressed to the metal pillar. “ _You’ve made it **difficult** to keep our business open_.” 

He keeps quiet, trying to focus past the burn in his side and thigh and shoulder. He takes a slow breath, closing his eyes for a moment, then runs out as he raises his bow, firing two arrows. He takes down two of the nine left, just barely missing the gunfire as he rolls behind a stack of crates.

“ _You’ll pay for **that** , too_,” the woman says low.

He could just run over and take them all down, break and tear and cut, but- The police will get evidence he or Slade are something _other_ if he does, which will draw more attention than either of them want, be it the police, the League, or someone else. It’s already bad enough that he’s bleeding in this warehouse. They’ll test the blood. He needs to burn it.

Something shifts in his periphery and he notches and fires an arrow rapid quick, the Triad agent falling back with an arrow between his eyes just before he hears a shout above him and whirls around, using his bow to block the white haired woman’s dagger as she drops down on him, spinning with her momentum and tossing her off and away. She lands on her feet like a cat, both daggers coming up as the other six agents run out and surround him, guns aimed. Her eyes catch his and widen.

“ _You_ ,” she says, almost a breath. Her grip tightens on her daggers. “I know of you. The Emerald Eyed Assassin. The League’s favorite pet.” She pauses and he narrows his eyes a little, keeping track of all his targets. “But the League isn’t here,” she says slowly, lips just as slowly curving up in a smirk, “So either you’re on a solo mission, or you’re here on your own. Given how long you’ve been in the news, I’m guessing the latter, which means I can kill you without repercussion.” She raises her daggers as the other agents shift, ready to attack like a pack of lions-

Sirens catch all their attentions, loud and quick. He hears tires and his head jerks to the side, looking around the crate. Red, white, and blue flash as the cars speed up the dock towards the warehouse.

“‘Till we meet again,” the white haired woman says, making a run for the back of the warehouse, all of her agents following. He digs the lighter he brought just in case out of his pocket and flicks it on, tossing it on one of the crates and making sure it catches fire before sprinting off to the side. A car speeds into the warehouse, headlights blinding him and he leaps on instinct, hears an engine below where he was and lands on top of a stack of crates. He leaps to the next one, dodging gunfire.

“ _He’s heading to the back! Surround the building!_ ” someone shouts.

Al Sah-him runs, shoulders his bow and leaps up, crashing through a back window and landing on his feet outside, shattered glass clattering around him. He ignores the burn from the bullet wounds and pushes off, sprinting for the fence. He leaps it, hears a car behind him and glances back, watches it skid to a stop. He sprints across the street, shoves a hard left into an alley and pushes faster for the other end, a car engine roaring behind him and headlights flashing his shadow up on the end wall. He skids to a stop, gloved hands slapping against the dead end’s brick. A car door opens and he hears a _click_.

“Stop right there! I’ve got you now, you psycho!” a voice shouts, male, older, and- familiar?

Al Sah-him slowly turns his head just enough to look over his shoulder around the hood, eyes finding- 

Detective Lance. 

_Sara and Laurel’s father_ , his mind whispers.

Lance’s lips curl up in a mean smile, victory practically lining his face. Al Sah-him’s fingers curl tight at his sides.

“Now, the Commissioner said we’re to shoot on sight, but I want you to _pay_ for what you’ve done, the lives you’ve taken,” Lance says viciously, jerking the gun aimed at the back of his head. “Drop the bow, the arrows, and the sword,” he orders.

Al Sah-him shifts-

“ _Slowly_ ,” Lance adds firmly.

Al Sah-him reaches up, slowly takes the bow down off his shoulder and lowers it to the ground, unstrapping the quiver and doing the same, then the same with his sword.

“Now, take off the mask and hood,” Lance orders next, slowly inching forward. Al Sah-him’s eyes narrow a little and Lance stops, straightening his aim. “I said take it off!”

Al Sah-him takes a slow breath to try and steel himself, slowly reaching up for his mask-

A steel barrel hits the car’s windshield and caves it in with a loud _crack_ , Lance jerking towards it as the glass shatters-

“ _Kid!_ ” 

Al Sah-him’s head jerks up, eyes finding Slade on the roof ledge above him, kneeling down with an arm stretched towards him. He jumps without thinking about the distance or Lance watching, catches Slade’s hand and Slade pulls him up like he weighs nothing, jerking him over the edge in a hard roll as gunshots go off, rolling them away from it. They both push to their feet and run, heads whipping up as a helicopter flies by overhead, searchlight blinding them.

A hand grabs his and his head jerks over as Slade yanks him left.

They dip out from under the searchlight and go weightless for a moment as they drop, Al Sah-him landing on his feet more out of training than anything else. His eyes adjust and he barely takes in the alley as they run for the end, catching up to and jerking his hand out of Slade’s and following him right, then left, then straight, then right and straight again, zigzagging their way through the streets. They pass a homeless man, three stray dogs, two cats, a group of bewildered teenagers. The searchlight still streams back and forth behind them, following, the helicopter engine joined by a chorus of police cars and sirens gaining on their left and right. A police car skids to a stop in front of the alley they’re sprinting through, red and blue lights flashing bright and they both jump over the hood, three gunshots going off. They land and keep running.

Two more cars try to head them off and Al Sah-him gets a bullet in the same shoulder as the knife wound, grunting. He grabs the strap of Slade’s sword harness and yanks him right, pulling him into a bar and avoiding more gunfire as they run straight through the shortcut, shoving patrons aside as they shout and scream with as much restraint as he can manage while still getting them clear out of the way. Slade pulls up even again and they burst out the other door, running straight through into a shop, zipping by display stands. Al Sah-him glances right out the shop windows and catches police car lights and sirens shadowing them and then they’re bursting out of the shop and Slade’s pulling him left down another street.

They turn a corner into another alley and a police car skids to a stop just before they do, Detective Lance shooting through the broken windshield right at him-

Slade moves right, stepping in front of him just before the gunshot goes off and Oliver’s heart stops, leaps up into his throat as Slade grunts with the hit, quiet and sharp. Lance shoves his door open and Oliver moves without thinking as Slade starts to drop, gets Slade’s arm around his shoulders and shoves _up_ , leaping up to the top of the car and then the roof before sprinting for the next one, the next, the world blurring and sirens growing distant as he runs faster, _faster_. He drops down into another alley and heads deeper into the Glades, the buildings getting more dilapidated the further in he goes. He crashes through one empty building, then another, catches blurred glimpses of fires and people and keeps going, finally bowling into an empty warehouse.

He skids to a stop when the silence finally catches up with him, panting lightly, and holds his breath, listening intently as his eyes dart around.

_Silence._

_Empty._

_Safe_ , his mind whispers. For now. 

He quickly crouches and lowers Slade down, ignoring his own wounds, pulse speeding up when Slade doesn’t sit up or move or-

Oliver checks his stomach below the kevlar, doesn’t see a bullet hole so he looks up left, right, either side of the vest near his shoulders- Nothing. His eyes catch on it when they shift down and he stills, quickly reaches up for the kevlar’s zipper at the base of Slade’s throat and yanks it down, flinging the zipper piece aside when it reaches the hole and comes off the track, tearing the vest open a little more to get a better look at the bullet wound. It’s through his chest, maybe through his sternum. He’s not-

“ _Slade_ ,” Oliver says, low and urgent, reaching up to grip both sides of his face over the mask, giving it a shake. Slade’s eye stays closed. “Slade!” Nothing.

A tinny sound catches his attention and he pulls Slade’s mask up enough to find the bluetooth, pulling it out and slipping it into his own ear.

“ _Wilson? Wilson!_ ” a woman- Smoak’s voice says urgently.

“He’s been shot,” Oliver reports low and quick.

“ _What?! Where?!_ ” Smoak returns, then Shado’s voice fills his ear:

“ _Where, Oliver?_ ” she demands, just as low and urgent.

“Sternum,” he answers, eyes focusing back on the wound, “It’s still inside.”

Shado curses quietly in Mandarin over the line and it’s quiet for a moment, then, “ _Did the League teach you anything about medical practice?_ ”

“Some,” Oliver answers, “Not for something like this. But I have steady hands.”

“ _We can’t get it out without probably killing him, and leaving it in might do the same_ ,” Shado says bluntly, “ _Our best chance is to get it out and hope the mirakuru heals whatever’s been damaged. Leaving it in might keep something that might need healing from healing. Do you understand?_ ”

Oliver stares down at Slade’s face, half covered by the mask and lips parted, breathing cracked and raspy. The guilt drowns him and he swallows, fingers curling over Slade’s vest. “I understand,” he says calmly, focusing.

“ _Find something to take it out with, sanitize it first_ ,” Shado orders, “ _Move him as little as possible_.”

A scuffing sound catches his attention and he pulls Slade’s gun out, whipping it up and aiming at the source. A boy in a red hoodie throws his hands up, freezing. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, just-” the boy- young man says, swallowing, “You’re the vigilantes, right?”

Oliver’s eyes narrow and the guy holds his hands up a little higher.

“I’m not here to turn you guys in,” the guy says quickly, voice just a little shaky but mostly firm, “I want to help.”

“ _Why?_ ” Oliver demands, eyes darting down briefly when Slade coughs, breathing raspier and more labored than it was a minute ago.

“Because,” the guy replies, jerking his chin towards Slade, “He saved my life.”

Oliver narrows his eyes a little more, debating with himself for a second. Slade coughs again and he quickly lowers the gun, holstering it and reaching down to get Slade’s arm back around his shoulders and lifting him up. Slade groans, chokes out a rough sound and Oliver’s heart beats faster, harder, grip tightening around Slade’s waist. He takes a breath.

“I need something to take the bullet out,” he says low.

The guy in the hoodie swallows again, eyes darting between the two of them. “Follow me,” he says, slowly turning and leading the way out, “There’s a vet clinic not too far from here.” 

Oliver frowns behind his mask but follows.

The guy leads them out of the warehouse and down one street, then another. Oliver keeps his eyes and ears open, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, side, and thigh. They pass people here and there, but all of them keep their distance. Half of them look away, the half that don’t watch them carefully, studying, calculating, but don’t do anything that makes Oliver stop. The guy leads them to a vet clinic closer to the city than not, but still deep enough in the Glades that the police haven’t reached it yet. He raps on the door in a short, sharp rhythm and waits, glancing back nervously. His eyes flick forward again when a lock _clicks_ and a light comes on, door opening a crack.

“Harper?” an older woman asks, frowning at him and then past him.

“Need some help,” the young man, Harper, says.

The woman frowns heavily but pulls her door open after a tense minute, gesturing inside as she looks around.

Harper steps in and Oliver warily follows, acutely aware of the swords on Slade’s back and the gun holstered and pressed against his thigh where it brushes Slade’s. He looks back sharply when the woman closes and locks the door behind them, tensing when she chains the door, too.

“Quit giving me that look,” she grouches, throwing an arm out towards the hall before leading the way down, “We keep drugs here.”

Harper watches him nervously before turning and quickly following her, Oliver taking another breath before making his legs move. She leads them down a short hall and left past a door, into a room with a steel table in the middle towards the back center. She turns the light on.

“Lay him on,” she says, gesturing to the table before heading over to a cabinet at the back right. Oliver does as he’s told, ignoring Harper’s raised brows at the ease he does it with. The woman turns back around, gray hair shining silver through the black sections under the overhead light. Oliver catches her wrist when she brings a needle down towards Slade’s neck, gripping it tight. “It’s just anaesthetic,” she grunts.

Oliver forces her hand away. “Give me something to take a bullet out with.”

She frowns but turns, pulling open a cabinet drawer and rifling around. She pulls something out and tears the package open, then turns back around and offers out a long, thin, needle-nosed, plier-like tool. Oliver takes it, turning back to Slade. He tears his shirt open enough to see the bullet wound clearly, pressing his free hand down on Slade’s chest and aiming the tool down-

“Do you know what you’re doing?” the woman demands.

“I have steady hands,” Oliver replies low and quiet, and digs the pliers in. Slade jerks up against his hand with a shout and Oliver shoves him down, clenching his jaw at the sound of Slade’s scream, deafening in the small room as Oliver pushes the pliers in, feels them skim bone. He lets his eyes go a little unfocused as he focuses on the sensations around the tool, what it’s sinking into, forcing his breathing to stay steady and slow through the adrenaline trying to flood his system at the sound of Slade’s pain. The end of the pliers finally hit something blunt and solid and he slowly opens them a bit, sinking them down a bit deeper-

Slade jerks again but Oliver keeps him flat against the table, trying to get the pliers around the bullet-

It grips and he slowly retracts them back up, eyes darting to Slade’s face. His eye is squeezed shut, teeth gritted and a layer of sweat on what Oliver can see of his skin. Oliver swallows and slowly pulls the blood covered pliers the rest of the way out, gold bullet gripped tight in the end. Slade drops unconscious back to the table and Oliver drops pliers and bullet on the steel tray to his right, focusing back on Slade and finally letting his breath pick up a little to match the adrenaline and thunder of his heart beating hard in his ears. 

A needle and thread appears in his field of vision and his eyes dart up. The old woman glares back. “He dies, it’s on your hands. Should’ve taken him to a hospital.” She looks down at Slade, frown deepening. “Even then, might die anyway.” She glances over to Harper where he’s holding a hand over his mouth, looking a little green. “You okay there, Harper?” Harper nods quickly, squeezing his eyes shut.

Oliver takes the needle and thread and quickly gets the wound closed, dropping the needle on the tray with the pliers and bullet after. “It’s done,” he says into the bluetooth, hears a rush of breath across the line.

“ _Will you be returning tonight?_ ” Shado asks.

“I shouldn’t move him,” Oliver responds, looking back up to the old woman, who’s still glaring at him. “We’ll leave in the morning.” Her eyebrows climb but she throws her hands up, shaking her head.

“You _owe_ me,” she says viciously, pointing at Harper on her way out and giving him a dark look before shuffling out of the room, steps fading as they move down the hall.

Harper’s eyes dart back to him, then down to Slade, then back again. “Dig the whole slient, murdery thing you’ve got going on. It’s really working wonders,” he says, voice tight.

Oliver glares at him and Harper’s mouth snaps shut. 

It’s tense and quiet for a minute.

“You said he saved you,” Oliver says. 

Harper jolts a little but nods quickly. “Yeah, ‘bout two weeks ago. I’ve been trying to find him and a way to pay him back since, but...he kind of went off the grid, more than he already was.”

“This is your debt considered repaid?” Oliver asks, eyes narrowing a little.

“Yeah,” Harper says quickly, “I mean, I think.” Harper’s gaze goes unfocused and Oliver focuses his own back on Slade, reaching up to check his pulse. It’s not exactly steady, but it’s strong. He looks up and Harper’s still standing there, staring at them. Harper jolts a little when he realizes Oliver’s staring back. “Right. I’ll just- I’ll-” He turns around and heads for the door, pausing and looking back. “Wait, aren’t you injured too-” he cuts off at Oliver’s glare and quickly turns back around, disappearing out and down the hallway.

Oliver watches the door for a long moment, listening, then looks around the room, taking in the sparse equipment, the white cabinet and drawers, the animal posters on the walls of kittens and puppies and internal anatomy, the bloody pliers and bullet. He walks over and quietly closes the door, then stops back at the side of the table, reaching up and pulling Slade’s mask up to his forehead. His face is lined with tension and his breathing’s still raspy, but it’s not getting worse. 

Oliver reaches up and pulls his half mask down below his chin, taking a shaky breath.

“ _How is he?_ ” Shado asks quietly, adding after a moment, “ _We could hear him screaming_.”

He flinches, reaching up in an aborted move for the bluetooth in his ear. “He’s breathing,” he answers, voice hushed.

“ _What happened?_ ” Shado asks.

_Slade moves in front of him just before the gunshot goes off-_

Oliver swallows, closing his eyes and taking a breath, then another. “He stepped in front of Detective Lance, took a bullet meant for me.”

Shado’s breath blows across the line. “ _Felicity says you’re in the Glades at a veterinary clinic_ ,” she says after a beat.

“Limited options,” he replies.

They’re both quiet then and Oliver closes his eyes, lets himself be in it for a minute. He and Slade didn’t always talk a lot on Lian Yu, but the silences between them weren’t like the ones between him and Shado. Shado’s were always calming, gentle, patient, almost an embrace, or made him want to embrace the quiet and be still. Slade’s were always underlined with a current that put him on alert. It was better for surviving, maybe, but it didn’t give him any peace.

“I’ll report when we leave,” he says, opening his eyes and forcing himself to focus again.

“ _I’ll meet you in the morning. The police have lost your trail_ ,” Shado replies, finishing softly, “ _Take care,_ _**beloved**_.”

His heart gives atwingeat that and he closes the line, eyes dropping to the steel table. Ivo paces in the corner of his periphery and Oliver forces his eyes to something else, walking around the table to grab the plastic chair against the opposite wall and carry it back, setting it down between Slade and the door and taking a seat. He reaches over after a minute, grabbing the bullet off the tray and turning it a little between his fingers, clenching his jaw.

 _Slade could have died_ , he thinks, quiet in his own head. Oliver shifts his eyes up to Slade’s tense face, his closed eye and quiet, raspy breathing. _For me_ , he thinks. He grips the bullet in his fist, crushing the metal.

_“ **Oliver!** ” he hears behind him, but keeps running through the field towards the plane, through the bombs falling, throwing his arms up to block the dirt exploding in his face._

_“ **Shado!** ” he shouts just before he gets thrown to the side by a nearby blast, Slade’s shout still ringing in his ears with the sound of it. He slowly sits up after a moment, blinks dazedly as he turns his head and sees Slade on fire, the sight not registering, not making any sense-_

He pockets the crushed bullet and sits back, letting his head drop back and the hood fall down from it, closing his eyes as something in his chest squeezes, tries to crush the air out of him. “Please don’t ever do that for me,” he whispers, barely audible to his own ears, backs of his eyes stinging. He squeezes them shut. 

After a minute he forces them back open and reaches over for the pliers, standing and taking a breath to try and refocus himself. The one bullet in his side went all the way through, and he can’t reach the one in his shoulder, but he can get the one in his thigh.


	19. If she ran away, come back home. Just come home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for more murder and mayhem and makeshift surgery
> 
> And I forgot to say this on the last chapter because my memory is terrible but THANK YOU, TATCH for helping me work out that tangled nonsense I couldn't figure out. XD I'd be lost without you. <3

“Did we get anything from the warehouse?” Lance asks, pushing into the room. 

“We’re still going through the charred remains. They only just put out the fire,” Lucas replies, looking up from the weaponry laid out on the steel table. “Heard you got hit?” he asks, brows drawing together, “You alright?”

“Yeah. Just got a steel barrel through my windshield,” Lance answers, raising his hands in mock-surrender at Lucas’ look. “Don’t ask. And those?” he asks, jerking his chin towards the weapons as he comes to a stop on the other side of the table.

Lucas raises an eyebrow but answers, “Sword’s used, but has been sharpened enough to cut through a soda can. Still trying to track down where it might’ve come from,” gesturing to it with a few fingers before moving them down the row, “Bow and arrows are the same case. We’ve already sent officers to each sporting goods store and pawn shop in the city to see if anyone’s missing either. Should know more in the morning. You see anything that might help us I.D. the vigilantes when you had your close encounter?”

Lance gives Lucas a look at the wording but nods. “The one in the full mask, ‘Ghost’, or whatever the media’s calling him, called the one in the hood ‘kid’. And he sounded older, closer to my age than what we were guessing, and I think he only had one eye. Might help us narrow down possibilities.”

Lucas nods. “Anything else?”

“The one in the hood must’ve been on something, because he jumped a distance I didn’t think any human could make, not outside the Olympics,” Lance replies, and Lucas raises his eyebrows a little. Lance shrugs, slowly frowning in thought.

 _“Kid!” a rough, deep voice shouts and Lance jerks back around from staring at the steel barrel caving in his windshield just in time to see the guy in the hood- **jump** almost two stories. Lance manages to pull his jaw back up off the floor in time to fire at them as the other vigilante rolls them away across the roof and out of sight_.

_He runs back for his car and kicks the barrel and broken windshield out before slamming the door shut and reversing out of the alley, tires screeching on the sharp turn. He puts the car in gear and guns it down the street in pursuit-_

“Lance? _Quentin!_ ”

He jerks out of his thoughts, eyes snapping up. 

Lucas stares back, brows drawn together. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Lance manages, shaking his head a little, “Just thinking about...something impossible. Don’t tell anyone I told you that last part, alright?”

Lucas’ brows rise a bit. “The ‘Olympic jump’?”

“Yeah, that part,” Lance answers, “Let’s just keep that between you and me until I’m sure I’m not crazy.”

Lucas’ brows rise a little more but he nods and Lance lets out a breath, shoulders slumping a bit.

It had to be a drug or something, right? Steroids, maybe. They’re always coming out with new, more dangerous stuff, like Vertigo.

His phone rings and he jerks a little, digging it out of his pocket. “Lance,” he answers.

“ _We got some blood from behind the warehouse_ ,” the officer on the other end reports, “ _We’re sending it in for testing now. We also managed to scrape up some from where you said you shot one of the vigilantes. With any luck, they’re separate D.N.A._ ”

“Call me when the tests are done and I’ll head straight down,” he replies, hanging up as his brows lower. _Got you now_ , he thinks firmly.

\-----

Al Sah-him stares down at the floor between his raised knees, head in his hands and back to the clock tower wall. He makes himself take another breath in to the sound of the giant clock ticking and lets it out in a slow rush.

_He sits up when he hears a car pull up outside, pulling his mask back up and hood down before slipping out of the room long enough to check through the blinds in the windows in the hallway. Shado gets out of the driver’s side of a black car, a hood pulled up over her head, and he slips back into the room, pulling Slade’s mask down over his face and double checking his breathing before getting his arms under Slade’s back and knees. He doesn’t make a sound when Oliver lifts him and Oliver’s heart beats harder._

_He carries Slade out, waits for the old woman to unchain and unlock the front doors before turning and pressing his back to one, shoving his way outside and ignoring her and Harper’s bewildered looks. He can’t carry Slade on his back without jostling him too much, and pulling Slade’s arm over his shoulders might shift the angle of his chest too much. As much as it compromises him, them seeing him carry Slade’s weight so easily, bridal it is._

_Shado’s already getting the back door open while they both furtively glance around. There’s still some people lurking, watching, but his and Slade’s faces are covered and Shado keeps her head lowered. He kneels on the edge of the seat and gets Slade in the back, laid out across the tan cushions, then pulls back and shifts Slade’s knees up a little so he can close the door before checking the front and back of the car, relaxing a little when he sees the covered license plates. She’ll probably get them a new car either way. They should be safe._

_Shado looks up across the car roof at him, hand on the open driver’s side door, waiting. He shakes his head and her eyebrows draw together, but she nods once and ducks down into the car, pulling the door shut behind her. He watches her pull away, glancing back at Harper and the old woman watching him before darting across the street into an alley, leaping up onto a dumpster and then the building’s roof, tailing the car to make sure Shado gets out of the Glades and into the city without trouble. He stops and watches them drive off for another minute under the early morning gray of the sky, then takes a breath and turns right, heading back for the clock tower-_

_Slade moves in front of him just before the gunshot goes off, grunting with the hit, low and sharp and Oliver’s heart freezes. He moves as Slade starts to drop_ -

He grips his head harder, jaw clenching.

Slade’s alive. He didn’t die in the night, kept breathing, low and raspy, but there. Al Sah-him- No. Can he even still call himself that? Al Sah-him was an arrow, a blade, didn’t let emotions cloud his judgment or make him act without thinking, react like a child without any forethought or thought for his surroundings. He’s more like-

_“Ollie,” Sara says._

He shakes his head a little. He’s not that either. He’s both. He’s neither. He has no name anymore.

He slides a hand down his face, rubbing at it with both and feeling the growing stubble on his cheeks before lifting his head and looking up towards the clock face, at the bright, gold light illuminating the room. He shifts, ignoring the bullet still lodged in the back of his shoulder, rolls it back. He’ll need to get it out at some point, somehow. It’s already healed over enough he’ll have to cut into himself to do it. Maybe he can find that old woman from the veterinary clinic again.

“ _Not going to ask your **friends?**_ ” Ivo taunts.

Al Sah-him ignores him.

“ _Oh that’s right, you don’t have friends_ ,” Ivo continues, “ _Just tools. At least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself. But things have been changing since Sara left, haven’t they_.”

He clenches his jaw.

Ivo whispers in his ear, “ _You **care** now_.”

“Shut up,” he hisses, cutting his hand through the air. He glowers across at the wall through empty space and slowly pulls his arm back in, gripping the side of his head again.

“ _And now you’re running away again_ ,” Slade growls, and his eyes dart up before he can stop them, forcing them back down when he catches sight of Slade’s grey tac gear from the island, not the black one he wears now. “ _That’s twice now you’ve left me to die._ _You’re nothing but a coward!_ ”

“I’m not running!” Oliver shouts, whipping his head up, freezing when he finds his father crouched a few feet in front of him, watching him with steady eyes, the blue of them nearly matching the color his own used to be.

“ _Are you sure about that, son?_ ”

Oliver stares for a long moment before growling and shoving to his feet, Robert disappearing between one blink and the next. “Shut up,” he says low, curling his fingers into fists. He closes his eyes and makes himself take a slow breath, then drags them open and stares up at the clock face again, watching the tick of the hands.

He’s not running. He just-

 _Everything I touch turns to ash_ , he thinks, comes to him calm like a fact.

His mother and Thea had to bury him and his father, are a wreck now because of him. Yao Fei died trying to help them. Shado and Sara nearly died because of him. Slade did die because of him. Laurel had to go through losing both him and Sara, and learn they were together when it happened. Slade almost died again for him last night. The League trained him, forged him into something past the would-be soldier Oliver Queen was on the island, past the connections he’d burned with his own damn hands, gave him purpose again, and now he’s falling right back to where he was: a lost boy who can’t stop burning everything he touches. And he- _hates it_. As much as Ra’s put a collar on him, it was- 

He clenches his jaw again.

It was a _safe_ place to be, for him, for others. The only thing he had to worry about was his next target. The only people who had to worry about him were the ones he was coming for. It was simple, and it worked, up until it didn’t. But maybe he should be used to that by now. As Oliver Queen or Al Sah-him, nothing _stayed_. Everything eventually crumbles. And now-

He’s jerked out of his thoughts by a low buzzing sound, eyes snapping over to the phone vibrating on the workshelf. He walks over, reaches out- hesitates. It buzzes again and again and he grabs it, flipping it open.

‘ _Unknown_ ’ flashes across the caller I.D.

He stares for a moment before finally hitting ‘answer’ and raising it to his ear, keeping silent.

“ _Oliver?_ ” Shado asks quietly.

His lips press together a little. He can hear her laugh in his head from the island, a rare sound, remembers the feel of her looking at him now in the present. He remembers the trust in her eyes, the ache, the weighted gaze. She knows him past Al Sah-him, just like Slade does, like Sara. They keep slipping past his defenses, keep putting their lives on the line for him and he can’t- 

She blows out a soft breath and he’s drawn out of his thoughts. She’s quiet for a minute before asking, “ _When are you going to stop running?_ ”

He grips the phone a little tighter. “I’m not-” He cuts himself off, clenching his jaw, angry at himself for letting her get a rise out of him, angry for- “It’s better if I stay away,” he says low. 

The League taught him control, but ever since coming to Starling City, that control has been slipping further and further away like a landslide. He’s tumbling down a mountain and all he can do is stare at the oncoming sharp rocks down below, waiting to cut him up. And he drags people down with him, always has: his mother, his father, Thea, Laurel, Tommy, Sara, Yao Fei, Slade, Shado. Everyone he comes into contact with. Some of them live, most of them die, in some way or another. He joined the League to put a _stop_ to that, but now-

“ _Oliver_ ,” Shado’s firm but gentle voice pulls him out of his thoughts again and he tightens his fist at his side. She continues in Mandarin, and it’s softer somehow, hits him deeper and makes the anger spike and drop, roller coaster through his veins like adrenaline, angry that it makes him feel anything at all, angry that he _misses_ it- “ _The choices we make are our own. You are not responsible for them_.”

“ _I put you in those situations that lead to those choices_ ,” he replies, slipping into Mandarin too. It makes something in his chest squeeze with how easy it comes. “ _I am responsible_.”

She sighs softly. “ _Maybe for some_ ,” she admits, “ _But most of those situations would have happened with or without you. Sara and I are alive because of you, and you are alive because of Slade. If you had not been there, I might have died, Sara might have died. If Slade hadn’t been there, you would have died, last night as well. You cannot go through life without your life touching another’s. It is impossible. The weight you put on yourself is impossible, so **stop**_. _**Stop running**_.”

He clenches his fist tighter, staring hard down at the work shelf.

“ _Stop blaming yourself, beloved_ ,” Shado continues, “ _And come home_.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not-” he gets out, throat going a little tight.

“ _I do not mean the Queen house_ ,” she cuts him off, “ _You and I both know we have more than one home_.”

He keeps quiet at that, eyes searching the rough wood. He misses-...

Sometimes, in his weakest, most private moments, he missed the island, the simplicity, the connections he, Shado, and Slade had there. He trusted them, more than he’s ever trusted anyone. They watched his back, and he watched theirs. They didn’t have to talk to communicate, they didn’t have to fill their silences with needless chatter. Shado and Slade were both guiding forces in their own ways, shaped him, both so dominant but...balanced, somehow, most of the time. They taught him how to survive, and how to _be_ in a place that didn’t care if you lived or died, even made it feel like home for a while. What does it say about him? That he felt the most home when he was trapped on a ruthless island with two killers.

And what he _hates_...what he doesn’t want to admit, even though he knows it, is he _still_ trusts them, to some degree. Slade called to him and he jumped without a thought. Lance was going to shoot him and Slade moved without any hesitation. Shado tailed them to Vanch’s mansion, he knows she did, but he was never concerned she was going fatally shoot him. She was at his back, and he knew she wouldn’t. He’d never trusted anyone in the League like that, not even Sara. He’d burned those connections as thoroughly as he could on the remains of their dead memories, but he’s here, listening to Shado on a phone Slade gave him in a city he never wanted to return to.

The sound of sirens catch his attention and he quickly moves over to the crack in the window, looking out. The police cars keep going past the clock tower and he waits, holding his breath and listening, only letting it out when they get a mile away. He steps back from the window and shifts his eyes up to the clock hands, watching them tick while Shado stays quiet on the other end of the line. It shouldn’t effect him like it does, but the faint sound of her breathing is calming, which makes the anger in him recoil and lash his insides. 

Ra’s would be ashamed of him.

“ _Slade is resting in the basement below the steel factory_ ,” Shado says after a while, “ _It wasn’t safe to take him anywhere else. Come when you are ready_.”

He doesn’t say anything and after a minute, the line _clicks_ closed. He lowers the phone and looks down at it, flipping it shut and closing his eyes for a minute, trying to steady himself. He gets them back open and looks around the clock tower, at the empty work shelves. 

His bow and arrows are gone, his sword too. He still has the short blade and the knives he took from here and there, but he’ll need at least another sword if he wants to keep going after his targets. Having a long range weapon would be more beneficial as well, if not wholly necessary with the force he can throw the knives with, but he’s lower on weapons than he was yesterday. 

He and Slade bled all over the city, too. The police might run it; he can’t count on them not doing it.

And Slade came for him, nearly died because of him, again. He can still hear Slade’s screams, deafening in that small room-

He shuts his eyes firmly, takes a slow breath in through his nose, holding it and letting it out just as slowly through his mouth, forcing the memory away. He walks over and grabs the civilian clothes he stole, changing into the black t-shirt, cargo pants, hoodie, and boots, throwing the hood up and slipping on the sunglasses. He pockets the phone and heads for the door in the floor, taking the stairs down and pushing it closed up above him before heading out. 

He’s compromised, cornered, by the police, by himself. He has no choice but to wait now. 

He heads down the street for a new restaurant, pausing and turning back around for the clock tower instead.

No, that’s not true. There’s still something he needs to do.

\--

Shado mutters in Mandarin to herself, looking down at Slade’s phone before shifting her eyes to him. His breathing’s not as raspy at it was this morning, but he hasn’t woken up yet. She rises from her chair next to the cot she bought and bends down to check his bandages. His feet hang over the end of the cot, but it’s sturdy and keeps him horizontal.

“ _How’s he doing?_ ” Felicity asks through the bluetooth.

“His skin is healing. I’ll need to pull the stitches out tonight,” she answers quietly, “But I don’t know about inside.”

“ _I wish we could get a hold of an x-ray machine or something_ ,” Felicity says, voice frustrated.

“We’ll just have to hope the mirakuru works,” Shado returns.

“ _And if it doesn’t?_ ” Felicity asks quieter.

Shado straightens and looks Slade over. There’s still a light layer of sweat covering him and his body temperature is higher than usual, signs the mirakuru’s doing _something_. She just hopes it’s enough.

\-----

“ _Nothing?_ ” Lance demands, phone pressed to his ear, “I shot him point blank and you’re telling me there’s been _no_ reports of _anyone_ showing up in any of the hospitals shot in the chest in the last twenty-four hours?”

Laurel looks up from her plate at that. Her father glances back, making a brief apologetic face before his eyes shift off again, going unfocused as he listens, frustration lining his face.

“Okay, so you’re telling me you have some but none between the ages of thirty and fifty,” he replies to someone on the other end. “Yeah, thanks,” he says, sharp and dry before hanging up, shoving his phone back down into his pocket. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, attention turning back to her. 

She watches him with raised brows, chewing and swallowing her bite. “We had one rule,” she starts, raising her glass to her lips.

“‘No work calls during outings unless it’s an emergency’,” Lance recites, “I know. I’m sorry. This kind of qualified as an emergency though, right?” he asks, gesturing vaguely. “I shot one of the vigilantes, the one who threw the barrel into my windshield.”

“Guess he really didn’t like you chasing him, huh,” she says, lighter than the worried weight in her chest feels.

“Didn’t like me chasing the other one, more like,” Lance replies thoughtfully, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, looking out the window with his mouth turned down, brows drawn together in that way they get when he’s trying to puzzle something out. “Wonder if they’re related?” he mutters.

She waits a few moments before taking a bite of her food and his eyes snap back. She drops hers pointedly to his barely touched plate and he jolts a little.

“Sorry, sorry,” he repeats, reaching down for his sandwich, “So how’s work? And Queen?”

“Fine, and I’m still worried,” Laurel sighs, letting him slide the conversation back, “She called in this morning. I wish she’d tell me what’s going on so I could help.”

“Teenagers don’t like help. _You still_ don’t,” Lance replies with a raised eyebrow at her, and Laurel rolls her eyes, lips ticking up.

“I ask for help when I need it,” she defends playfully, taking another bite.

“ _Sometimes_ ,” Lance adds, and she smiles a little more. “Whatever’s going on, I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he continues after he chews and swallows, “Sometimes I think you should’ve been a cop instead of a lawyer.”

“Thought about it for a while,” Laurel replies honestly, taking another sip of her drink before finishing playfully, “But I think I just like watching the bad guys squirm in the witness seat too much.”

Lance huffs a laugh at that and she relaxes a little, glad to finally get a smile out of him. She frowns a little after a moment when she realizes something, chewing her next bite slowly.

Her father shot one of the vigilantes last night, it and the chase were on the news, the burnt warehouse, and Thea called in. She’s been acting strange since Adam Hunt. Maybe it _does_ have something to do with the vigilantes?

She frowns a little more to herself as she swallows, taking another bite as she thinks it over.

\-----

“So he’s okay?” Thea asks, gripping the phone tighter and lowering her other hand from her mouth.

“ _Oliver’s fine_ ,” the woman on the other end answers, and Thea’s eyes close as she blows out a breath, hand pressing to her chest.

“Oh thank _god_ ,” she lets out.

“Thea?” Moira asks, pausing in her doorway. Thea whips around, eyes red, and Moira hurries over, taking in her face and the phone. “Is it Oliver?” she asks urgently.

Thea shakes her head, dragging her eyes away. “Is Wilson okay?” she asks next.

“ _He’s recovering_ ,” the woman answers vaguely.

Thea frowns a little but lets it go, nodding absently. As long as Oliver’s okay. “Okay. Okay,” she breathes, closing her eyes again. The line _clicks_ and she pulls the phone away, hanging up.

“Thea?” her mother asks, and Thea looks over, glancing down at the phone guiltily before shoving it in her pocket. “Who gave you that phone?” Moira continues, “Was it Wilson? Is Oliver okay? _Thea_ -”

“He’s fine!” Thea lets out, blowing out another breath and lowering her voice, “He’s okay, and Wilson’s recovering.”

Moira’s shoulders relax and she closes her eyes, letting out her own breath. “Do you know who was on the phone?” she asks.

Thea shakes her head. “Some woman. I didn’t recognize her voice, but she said Ollie’s fine and Wilson’s recovering. He must be the one Laurel’s dad shot last night,” she answers quietly.

Moira looks off to the side, brows drawn together. _Quentin_ , she thinks, fingers curling a little.

Thea grips the phone in her pocket, making herself take another breath. “I need to go to work,” she decides, drawing Moira’s eyes back, “Even if it’s only half a day, I don’t want Laurel getting suspicious.”

Moira nods, giving Thea’s shoulder a squeeze before pulling her into a tight hug. “That’s a good idea,” she agrees, Thea hugging her back. They pull away and Moira watches her go, eyes dropping down to Thea’s hand in her pocket. She frowns a little, brows drawing together in thought as she looks out the window.

\-----

Al Sah-him drops down through the museum air vent, landing silent on the high beam below it in the shadows and focusing on the movement three stories below. Albert Davis gestures at his men organizing a display of old pottery and amulets in a glass case, one of several dotting the floor amid pillars and aged, cracked, stone statues. He turns to the Triad agents and the woman with white hair.

“You don’t think he’ll come back, do you?” Davis asks, gesturing wildly, “The police shot one of them last night! And you said you shot the other. He won’t be coming back, right?”

“The people who trained him aren’t the type to give up,” the white haired woman replies, slowly scanning the room and floors as her men mill around, hands resting on their guns and eyes alert, “You were his target. He will come to finish the job.”

“As long as you kill him, I’m fine,” Davis replies, crossing his arms over his stocky chest, “Although I wish we could have done this at my office or something instead. Do you know how priceless all the things in here are?”

“I’m well aware,” the white haired woman drones, already tuning him out.

Al Sah-him’s already taken care of the security cameras and the museum’s few security guards, so all that’s left...

He stands and steps out, dropping down the three stories like a dead weight and landing in a hard crouch in the center of the room on the tan marble floor. Everyone whirls around and he pushes off with a burst of speed, their movements slowing a bit as he draws the short blade and his knives out. He throws them left while he goes right, gets four Triad agents in the neck and slices a fifth, stabbing the blade rapid into the heart of the sixth, ripping it out and shoving it through the neck of the seventh, then whirls and kicks the eighth in the stomach, sending him flying into a display case, glass shattering loudly in the commotion. There’s shouting and he pushes himself faster, dodging gunfire and taking down the ninth and tenth agents before going for Davis’ retreating back. Al Sah-him grabs his coat and spins him back around, shoving his blade up beneath Davis’ chin into his skull. 

He holds Davis’ wide, shocked eyes a second before ripping the blade out and ducking behind him to avoid the guard’s gunfire, shoving the body towards them and leaping over it as he brings his knife down. He takes out one, two, three and the gunfire stops, then slowly turns around, green eyes finding the white haired woman’s wide ones. She lowers her stance a little more, blades drawn, and glances quickly to the exits. He raises his hand and she stills as he pulls his mask down and pushes his hood back.

Her eyes widen briefly before narrowing again, grip tightening on her daggers. “You’re showing me your face because you expect me to die?” she demands.

“I’m showing you my face because this is personal,” he replies coldly, glaring back. He drops the knife. It clatters loud against the marble floor, landing in a streak of blood. He raises his hands into position, lowering his own stance to mimic hers. 

She grits her teeth and runs at him with a shout, spinning into a kick before slashing for his throat. He blocks both with his forearms and lashes a hand forward, quick as a viper, gripping her throat. She chokes, both blades coming down hard into his forearm and eyes widening when he doesn’t let go. 

“ _What-...are you?_ ” she chokes out.

He snaps her neck with a sharp jerk of his wrist and her arms go slack, falling to her sides. He lets go, body landing with a _thud_ in the streaks of blood and head rolling crookedly to the side, brown eyes staring sightlessly up while red stains her white hair.

“A wraith,” he answers quietly, staring down, eyes hard, “And yes, I expect you to die.” He heads for the nearest exit, pulling his mask up and hood down and leaving a trail of bloody shoe prints behind with the mess of bodies and broken glass.

\--

“He’s got a lot of scars,” Felicity comments quietly.

Shado glances over, then back, takes in the faded scars across Slade’s chest above and below the white bandaging stark against his skin. A lot of them look like blade scars, some short, some long, all old, the bullet one in his shoulder from the island. With the mirakuru though, she’s not sure which of the others are from the island and which ones are from before it, which ones might be from his former partner.

“Guess that’d make sense,” Felicity continues after a minute, drawing Shado out of her thoughts, “Working for who he does. Did?” Her brows draw together and she looks up. “I don’t-” Felicity cuts off, eyes darting over and Shado turns around, stilling when she sees Oliver slowly coming down the stairs, blood streaked all over his black robes, reflecting the light, and green eyes watching them warily. 

She slowly stands, taking in the blood and the knives in his forearm as he makes his way over. “What happened?” she asks, hurrying for the first aid kit on the table and coming back. He comes to a stop and Shado reaches for his arm, gently pulling him over to the chairs next to the cot and pressing his shoulder, relieved when he sits. She studies the blades, brows drawn low together, and looks up. “Who did this?” 

His eyes shift from her to Felicity and then down to Slade, lips pressed firmly together. “Triad,” he answers quietly, eyes focused on the edge of the cot, “They’re dead.” Shado’s mouth pinches but she opens the first aid kit while Felicity shuffles back a little more towards the head of the cot. Oliver’s eyes dart up to her and she freezes like a rabbit in headlights, but then they drop again and she lets out a breath. Shado reaches for the first blade, looking up. 

“This is going to hurt,” she warns. His eyes shift over to her, blank, and he reaches down, yanking both out without so much as a grimace and slipping them into a couple holsters on his wide belt. Her heart beats faster, aches at the ease with which he does it, but she quickly gets the bandages out, eyes drawn back to the blood sliding down her hand from his arm.

“I still have a bullet in the back of my shoulder,” he says quietly. Her eyes dart back up, but he’s staring down at his arm. “Need to cut it out.”

“Okay,” Shado replies, just as quiet, pulling his gauntlet off and pushing his robe sleeve up. He holds it for her while she tries to clean the wounds as best she can before grabbing a needle and thread out of the kit and tearing their packaging open, threading the needle and focusing back down. 

She works quickly and quietly and he doesn’t make a sound, cleaning up any blood leaking when she’s done before bandaging his forearm. She gets up and steps behind him and he sits up a little straighter, undoing his robed top and slipping the left sleeve down. She pauses when she catches the edge of the scar trailing down the side of his neck, eyes darting up to find Felicity staring at it too, a hand over her mouth.

Shado digs an exacto knife out of her bag and tears the package open, lining the blade up with the healing bullet hole in his shoulder blade.

“Starting,” she warns him quietly, then presses the blade in. He doesn’t move or flinch or even suck in a breath, just remains silent and still while she works, cutting in deeper until she feels the blade nick something metal. She shifts it and digs down a little more, getting it under the bullet and slowly, carefully digging it out. She drops it in the first aid kit once she has it and slips the exacto back into its packaging before getting the antiseptic wipes and another bandage. Oliver doesn’t move when she uses those either, but she tries to be as gentle as she can. With how much he’s not reacting, she wonders what he’s been through that this...doesn’t even seem to register. Was it the League, or was it Ivo? Or was it both. Maybe it was neither. There’s so much they don’t know about his last four years.

“Done,” she announces quietly. Oliver pulls his sleeve back up and re-ties his robes, glancing over at her as she moves to set the kit back on the table.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, and she smiles a little, brows drawn together.

“I’m glad you came,” she says softer. His eyes shift away, down to the floor, then snap over as he turns his head at the steps coming down the stairs.

“Looks like I’m late,” Diggle comments, watching Oliver closely as he slowly approaches. He nods his chin towards Slade. “How’s he doing?”

“Stable, for now,” Shado answers, and Diggle nods.

“You just missed them playing operation,” Felicity says, voice tight as she flicks a finger between Shado and Oliver. Diggle raises his brows, looking between them while Felicity makes a small gagging sound in the back of her throat.

“I’ve probably seen worse,” Diggle comments, and Felicity shudders. “Your sister’s been crying near every day, by the way,” he adds towards Oliver after a moment, “In case you were wondering. Were you?”

“Diggle,” Shado says quietly.

Oliver keeps quiet, glaring up at him.

Diggle scoffs, crossing his arms, holding Oliver’s stare until Oliver stands. “Now where are you going?” Diggle asks.

Oliver doesn’t answer, just walks over to the wall and takes a seat, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. Diggle huffs while Shado watches him. He looks tired in ways she’s not used to, but she’s not surprised.

“Sooo...I guess we’re staying in tonight,” Felicity says slowly, looking between the five of them. None of them say a word so she makes her way over to the table, taking a chair with her. “Good. Because the police are out extra tonight.” She takes a seat at the end this time so she can keep an eye on Oliver and Wilson, holding in a sigh and trying to roll the tension out of her shoulders. 

It’s going to be a long night.


	20. Wake me up, I want to feel the sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been agonizing over this all day  
> Music I've had on repeat;  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LEG-wqg3b2M - Astronomical by SVRCINA  
> &  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R3X1o3Uz35s - Bad Dream by Ruelle

Al Sah-him keeps his eyes closed and his back to the wall, hears the quiet sound of Smoak’s fingers on her tablet keyboard, the low murmuring of Shado and Diggle talking about Moira and Thea.

Diggle’s: “ _We should tell her he’s alive_.”

And Shado’s: “ _She called early this morning. I told her what I could. She knows_.”

He hears Shado sharpening a blade at some point and cracks his eyes open enough to look, gaze stopping on his sword she got back somehow and bow and arrows next to her bag. She glances over at him after a moment and he closes his eyes again, focusing instead on trying to let his body heal, but making a mental note of his weapons for later. His arm and shoulder blade are still throbbing, but the sharp pains have dulled into aches, and they’re dulling even further. He should be fully healed by mid-morning tomorrow.

Diggle is the first to leave after an hour, makes noise about being up early to guard Thea, “Since we’re not doing anything tonight and Wilson seems stable _.”_ Al Sah-him feels Diggle’s weighted gaze on him, tracks the sound of his heavy tread all the way up the stairs and to the steel factory’s main door, listens to the car engine come alive and then fade down the road. Smoak is the next to leave, heels clicking quietly on the cement.

“Are you coming Shado?” she asks, then whispers, thinking he can’t hear, “ _Are you sure it’s a good idea to leave the two of them alone?_ ”

“Will you watch him, Oliver?” Shado asks, and he drags his eyes open, lowering his head and looking over at where she’s standing next to the cot. Her brown eyes watch him, concerned and determined all in one. “Call me if anything changes? My number is in Slade’s phone.”

He narrows his eyes a little, but inclines his head a fraction and she seems satisfied, gently corralling Smoak up the stairs regardless of Smoak’s equally concerned, if threatening looks sent his way. He looks over at Slade once they’re gone, still unconscious on the cot. His breathing is barely rasping now, has gradually improved over the last hour, but it’s still audible.

He swallows down the guilt.

Shado’s trusting him again.

Oliver closes his eyes and drops his head back, forcing both thoughts away.

\-----

“Harper!” a voice calls, sharp as a whip crack. His head snaps up mid-kick and he drops his eyes back down when the guy grabs his ankle, kicking him hard in the face. The guy grunts and drops back, unconsciousness. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“What I _can_ ,” he pants back, turning and wiping at his brow with the back of his hoodie sleeve. “Shouldn’t you be in the vet clinic?”

Old Mrs. Thompson glares at him through her rectangular glasses, putting her hands on her hips, white and black hair pulled back in a tight bun. “Shouldn’t you be making an honest living instead of beating the snot out of a couple of snots?” she snips back.

He sighs, shoulders dropping, and rolls them out, shaking his aching hands out next. “No one else is _doing_ anything,” he replies, gesturing at the alley they’re in, the group of people across the street who stood and watched. “These guys just about jumped a girl and everyone just _stood around_. I can’t do that.”

“Fancy yourself a vigilante, hm?” she asks, raising an unimpressed eyebrow, “Thought you would’ve learned where that’d get you the other night.”

He sighs again, then stands straighter. “I’m just doing what needs to be done,” he says firmly.

She scoffs, turning her head to the side and glancing around the area. She turns and starts walking back out the mouth of the alley and he jogs to catch up.

“Wouldn’t mind me borrowing some gauze, would you?” he asks, shaking his aching knuckles out again. They might be bleeding. A little.

She slants narrowed eyes over at him. “You can’t _borrow_ gauze for bloody knuckles.”

“Ten bucks?” he tries.

She huffs, exasperated, and jerks her head in the direction of the clinic. “As long as you wash that damn hoodie,” she replies, “The red doesn’t match the blood you’re getting covered in. Doesn’t hide a damn thing.”

He perks up and she immediately looks like she regrets saying anything at all.

\-----

“Oh, shit,” Lance sighs long, slowing to a stop outside the mess of dried blood and body stench. “Is that who I think it is?” he asks, nodding his head towards the woman with the white hair in the center.

“If you think that’s Chien Na Wei of the local Triad, then yes, it’s who you think it is,” Lucas replies, looking up and over from his notebook.

“Sword wounds?” Lance asks expectantly, watching the coroners move about.

“Knives,” Lucas answers, nodding his own head towards the short blade being bagged next to Chien Na Wei, “But her neck was broken by hand. Up close and personal. Guess Wraith didn’t take kindly to her set up the other night.”

Lance sighs, rubbing at his forehead as he takes in the bodies. “So we’ve got a pissed off serial killer now. Great.”

“About sums it up,” Lucas agrees, “On the other hand, if his beef was with Chien Na Wei and Davis, who appears to have been working with the Triad, this should hopefully be the end of this particular massacre.”

“Yeah, except the Triad are probably going to retaliate,” Lance replies, dropping his hand with a loud sigh. “Shit.”

Lucas hums an agreement. “Shit, is right.”

“We get anything off the cameras?” Lance asks after a moment, looking over.

“Nope,” Lucas replies, looking up at the ones in the corners, “All disabled before the massacre. The security guards were killed too.”

Lance sighs again and Lucas hums another agreement. Lance digs some Ibuprofen out of his pocket and shakes out three, swallowing them dry. He’s already getting a headache.

\-----

“Good morning, Thea,” Laurel greets, looking up from her desk as Thea walks over.

Thea slows, setting her coffee cup and purse on her neighbouring desk. “Morning,” she replies, trying for a smile. She thinks she manages to pull it off, but Laurel leans a little closer after she pulls her chair out and takes a seat.

“Still feeling under the weather?” Laurel asks, brown eyes concerned.

“Yeah. I think what I came down with is still hanging around,” Thea replies, feeling guilty for the lie but- “But it’s mostly gone now, just don’t have much of an appetite.” That’s true, at least.

“Well, there’s some great soup served at the bistro down the street,” Laurel replies with a small smile, “We could try there for lunch, if you’re up for it?”

“Sure,” Thea agrees, smiling a little more and trying not to let it strain.

 _God_ , she thinks, _This is hard_.

Laurel looks at her a moment longer before going back to her files and Thea drags her own stack over, starting to sort through them while she tries not to fidget, acutely aware of Laurel sitting next to her.

It’s not like she doesn’t know what that look meant, what Laurel’s doing. Thea knows she’s waiting for her to stay something one way or another but- But it’s not like she can _tell Laurel_ about _Ollie_. Friend and ex-girlfriend or not, Laurel’s still a lawyer and her dad’s a _cop_. On the task force. That shot Wilson! He could’ve shot her brother! And he already blames them for Sara’s death, would probably blame Oliver even more than he already does if he knew Oliver was alive; Laurel probably would too. She definitely _can’t_ tell Laurel.

Thea blows out a breath, sending her bangs up as she tries focusing back down on the files.

No, she can’t tell Laurel, but at least her mom knows. That’s something.

\-----

A quiet groan wakes him and Al Sah-him’s eyes snap open as he quickly forces himself to his feet, tense and alert, eyes darting around until they land on the cot. Slade’s eye is still closed and he doesn’t move, make another sound, but his breathing is steadier than it was the last time Al Sah-him was awake.

He relaxes again and walks over after a moment, bends down and carefully slips a finger in the top of the bandage, pulling it back just enough to check the wound. It’s healed over, still pink, but closed. He lets it go, straightening back up and staring down.

Slade’s skin is still covered in a light sweat, but nothing like in the vet clinic. Al Sah-him lets his eyes skim down below the bandage, taking in the faded scars, the bullet one in his wide bicep.

“ _You can untie me now_.”

“ _Why’d you want me to tie you up in the first place?”_

 _“A man in pain is unreliable. I was afraid I might kill you._ ”

He drops his eyes to his own forearm, lifting it a little and looking over the white bandage beneath his sleeve. Ra’s taught him to exist beyond pain, to accept it as part of life and move past it. He lowers his arm, eyes finding their way back to Slade before he catches himself, forcing them away.

“ _You could kill him_ ,” Wintergreen says quietly, almost a whisper, prowling into his periphery.

Al Sah-him turns his head a little further away, eyes on the ground.

“ _It’d be easy_ ,” Wintergreen continues, “ _He’s vulnerable, **weak**_.”

Black stops next to the cot out of the corner of his eye, slowly crouches down.

“ _What makes him so special? Or Gulong. Just because she’s Yao Fei’s daughter? Or because you’ve gotten **weak**_ ,” Wintergreen taunts, voice a vicious hiss.

“ _I keep telling you_ ,” Ivo chimes in lightly, pacing in from the other side, “ _It’s those pesky feelings from the island. You were supposed to have put them behind you. Of course, that was when you thought they were dead_.”

Al Sah-him’s fingers curl a little and he looks back, ignores Wintergreen’s orange and black mask and looks past it to Slade. His head’s tilted a little to the side towards the wall, stubble a bit darker from not shaving, lips dry and parted enough to breathe through and eyepatch covering his right eye. Oliver’s never seen him vulnerable, not really. Even when Slade was half burned alive and dying, he still had his gun in hand and looked ready to take everyone down with him in a fight. The closest might’ve been-

_“You’re always doing something stupid,” Slade says, voice strained, but softer, “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised you did something stupid this time.” Oliver feels Slade shift but doesn’t open his eyes. “And brave,” Slade adds quieter, closer. Something brushes his forehead and it’s enough for Oliver to crack his eyes open, opening them a little further when he finds Slade’s eyes right there, the brown nearly black in the shadow as their foreheads press together. Oliver’s heart gives a faint **kick** even as the numb spreads, thickens, tries to smother it._

_“ **I didn’t tell you**...” Oliver whispers, all he can manage-_

He jerks his head away, forcing the memory- gone. Wintergreen laughs cruelly and he clenches his jaw, his fists. Ivo clicks his tongue and he closes his eyes firmly, taking a deep breath. He turns sharply and walks over to Slade’s bag under the stairs, crouching down and digging through it. He grabs a few of the protein bars he finds and the electric razor and heads for the stairs, taking them up. If anything happens with Slade he’ll be able to hear it, but for now, he needs to focus on something else.

He steps out into the factory, setting sunlight slanting in through the grimy windows and hitting the dirty, paper littered floor in patches. He stops when his gaze catches on familiar eyes and slowly steps closer, staring down at Robert’s smiling face staring back up from a dirt covered, trampled brochure. He crouches down, reaching with a few gloved fingers, hesitating briefly before skimming them down his father’s cheek, heartbeat picking up in his chest. It’s stupid, it’s just paper, but the hallucinations he sees never touch him, the good ones or the bad. He-

 _No_.

He shakes his head, jerking his hand back and standing, glaring down at the picture.

There are no ‘good’ hallucations. They’re all distractions, ghosts.

He steps past it, searching the factory. He finds the bathroom after a few minutes and shuts the doorway halfway before plugging the razor in, half surprised it comes to life when he pushes the button. He trims the mass his stubble is working on becoming and then washes his face over the dirty sink, unwinds the bandage around his forearm and pulls the stitches out with his fingers since his wounds are healed enough. After, he loosens his robes and surface washes his chest, under his arms, splashes more water on his face. He tears the protein bars open and scarfs all four, stomach settling from where it was starting to kick up a storm. He ignores it most of the time, his metabolism can’t be helped, but it’s still- less of a distraction to have something close to a half full stomach than not.

He tosses the wrappers in the trash and slides his arms back into his sleeves, tying his robes back in place before grabbing the razor and winding the cord around it, heading back to the basement. His steps slow to a stop halfway down the stairs, eyes catching on Slade’s when it slants over to him, half open where he’s tensed on the cot. They regard each other for a minute before Al Sah-him slowly continues the rest of the way down, stopping over to shove the razor back in Slade’s bag before heading over to his new spot against the wall and taking a seat. It’s tense and quiet for a minute, two, before Slade huffs and slowly pushes himself up to sit, going as slow as he did when he was burned on the island.

The guilt kicks him again and Oliver watches Slade slowly turn, get his boots on the floor and take a breath, swallow, left eye closed and expression pinched. After another minute, he slowly pushes himself to his feet and Oliver tenses, tracking him. Slade sways a little but stays standing, then slowly shuffles to the stairs, taking them up one at a time with a hand braced on the wall. It’s almost painful to watch, how slow he’s moving, but Oliver keeps still where he is, watching Slade like a hawk, then listening when Slade eventually disappears up into the factory, hears his steps shuffle out across the paper littered floor to the bathroom.

Five minutes pass, ten, fifteen, then Slade’s steps slowly shuffle back to the basement door, then down the stairs, going even slower than he went up them. Oliver watches, fingers curling a little where they’re hidden in his sleeves. He quickly drops his eyes when Slade glances over, watching Slade in his periphery instead, listens to his steps grow closer and closer until Slade finally stops and slowly lowers himself down to the cot, dropping back with a long, raspy sigh. Oliver swallows the guilt down, anger licking his insides in its place.

 _My fault_ , his mind whispers, and he closes his eyes, brows lowered and furrowed. _**His** fault_ , he argues back, anger building in his chest, _I didn’t ask him to come, or to step in front of that bullet. I didn’t ask_ -

 _But he did it anyway_.

 _ **It doesn’t matter**_ , he thinks firmly. _I shouldn’t care. **It shouldn’t matter**_.

_“ **I didn’t tell you**...” Oliver whispers, all he can manage. Slade’s eyes search his, intent, conflicted...even worried-_

**_It doesn’t matter_** _,_ he repeats harder, heart beating quicker anyway and he _hates it_.

That time is over, long past gone. What’s happening now is- different. He shouldn’t care. He does. _He hates that he does_. This is everything he was trying to avoid for four years, everything he thought he’d overcome, been done with. He shouldn’t even _be down here_ , shouldn’t have listened to Shado, shouldn’t have trusted her with his wounds, standing behind him with his back so _open_ and _exposed_ -

“I can _hear_ you thinking,” Slade grumbles quietly, jerking Oliver out of his thoughts, eyes snapping open and up to the cot, “Give it a rest.”

“Shut up,” he snaps back automatically, then snaps his mouth shut, anger spiking at his own outburst. Slade’s head turns his way and he raises an unimpressed brow, and Oliver grits his teeth. He’s not a hallucination. He can’t talk to this Slade like he is one.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Slade mumbles after a minute, watching him through a tired eye, lid half lowered like he’s on his way to slipping back into sleep, “Thought you would’ve run off by now.”

_“And now you’re running away again,” Slade growls, “That’s twice now you’ve left me to die. You’re nothing but a coward!”_

_“I’m not running!”_

_I’m not running_ , he thinks, jaw clenching, about to cross his arms over his chest before he realizes how childish that would make him look and drops them uselessly back to his sides. He keeps silent and Slade’s eyebrow twitches up again. Oliver looks away, staring hard at the floor.

“‘Course, last thing I remember was a shitton of pain,” Slade grunts, rolling his head up to look at the ceiling while guilt sinks into the pit of Oliver’s stomach all over again, spreads out and floods his system, “And you doing what I warned you not to. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Seems even as a master assassin, you can’t do anything without making more trouble.”

Oliver glares up at him, pushing the guilt down, but Slade’s not looking, instead closes his eye and lets out another long sigh.

“Save it,” Slade mutters, like he can see him, “I’m not in the mood to deal with your self doubt.”

Oliver growls quietly and shoves himself to his feet, stalking over. He kneels on the edge of the cot as he pulls one of his new daggers, bending down and holding it down against Slade’s throat, ponytail slipping over his shoulder. Slade’s eye cracks open and slants up, staring at him steadily.

“Going to do it?” Slade asks after a minute of tense silence, and Oliver tightens his grip around the dagger, clenching his jaw, heartbeat picking up.

He _wants_ to kill Slade, wants- to be _done_ with this, but simultaneously doesn’t want- can’t-

They stare at one another for a solid minute before Slade closes his eye and turns his head a little away, _dismissing_ him. Oliver presses the blade closer to his skin, sees red well up and then his world flips and he’s on his back on the hard floor, Slade over him with a knee digging into his stomach, forcing his breath out, his knife hand pressed to the floor by his wrist. Oliver’s heart beats faster as his senses reorient. Slade’s breathing is a little raspy and there’s a light sweat on his brow again, but his eye is focused and intent.

“If you’re not, then _stop_. I’m getting tired of dealing with your bullshit,” Slade growls out, holding Oliver’s glare for another minute before shoving himself up and dropping back on the cot, leg and arm hanging exhaustedly over the side.

Oliver stares up at the ceiling for a minute, then slowly sits up and slants his eyes over to Slade’s calf, feeling like a scolded _child_. “I’m not the same kid I was on the island,” he bites out.

“ _Then stop acting like it_ ,” Slade growls back, turning his head to glare over at him, “Pull your head out of your damn ass. You think you’re the only one who went through shit the last four years? Who doesn’t want to face what he is? Who’s kept up all damn night by the ghosts rattling his cage? It’d be _easier_ to push you away.”

“Then why don’t you?!” Oliver lets out, pushing to his feet, teeth gritted and feeling _frayed_ , “Stop trying to change me!”

Slade glares up at him for a minute before his expression lessens, doesn’t soften, but his glare dies down. He turns his head a little, looking at Oliver like he’s seeing him from a different angle, and Oliver stills as the realization hits him all over again, realizes what Slade’s going to say before he says it-

“You’ve already changed,” Slade says, and it’s like a punch to the gut, everything Oliver’s been thinking, avoiding thinking, then thinking of all over again stabbed through him like a sword to the chest. He already knew it, but hearing it said out loud by someone other than a voice in his head makes it a different level of real. Slade slowly turns his head back towards him, scrutinizing him closely.

Oliver turns away, sheathing the dagger and stalking to the other end of the room, putting his back to the wall and dropping to the floor, crossing his legs and staring across at the opposite wall. He feels Slade’s gaze on him for a long minute before that prickling feeling goes away, and forces himself to take a slow breath through the adrenaline and hard beat of his heart.

 _I know_ , he thinks angrily, fingers curling in his sleeves again, _I know I’ve changed_.

But what he doesn’t know is what that makes him. He’s not Al Sah-him. He’s not Oliver Queen. He told the white haired woman that he was a ‘wraith’, but that’s _what_ he is.

_“I think you know what you are,” Sara answers, holding his stare, “But I don’t think you know **who** you are. Without that, you’re nothing more than a tool, and you’re better than that, Ollie.”_

_Am I?_ he thinks, forcing his eyes closed.

\-----

“Moira,” an all too familiar voice greets, and dread sinks into her stomach like a stone as her eyes dart up.

“Malcolm,” she lets out, controlling herself at the last moment and not jumping to her feet like a guilty child. She stands from her chair, shaking his hand when he reaches across her desk before taking a seat in one of the black, plush chairs in front of it. She lowers herself back down, watching his smiling face and blue eyes caught in the sunlight through the side windows, blue like the ocean the Gambit went down in, brought out further by the dark blue of his suit and tie and light blue shirt. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asks, smiling politely and dismissing her secretary. Gavin smiles and nods, slipping out of the office and quietly closing the glass doors in front of him before returning to his desk, sealing her in.

“We need to talk about the vigilantes,” Malcolm says once the doors are shut, pleasant smile not slipping off his face and hands resting on the armrests as he smoothly crosses one leg over the other.

“Ah, yes,” she replies after a pause, keeping her breathing even and trying to keep her heart from galloping like a stampede of wild horses set loose on the countryside.

“They’re going after people on The List,” Malcolm continues, “Well, this ‘Wraith’ character is for sure. He killed Albert Davis last night. It was in the news, did you see?”

“I did,” she nods, resting her chin on the back of her knuckles, fingers brushing under her jaw, “What do you propose?”

“I’ve already taken steps, I just wanted to keep you informed,” Malcolm replies genially, “An assassin, goes by the name Deadshot. As his name suggests, he never misses.”

“Good, good,” Moira makes herself say, the dread in her stomach winding tighter, “The news said one of the vigilantes was shot last night. He might not even be necessary.”

“Still, I like to have all my bases covered,” Malcolm replies with a glint in his eye she last saw when he was talking to Robert in their own home. The dread builds and she refocuses as he stands, doing so as well, returning the nod he gives her before he turns and heads for her office doors. “Oh, and Moira,” he adds, pausing and turning back. Her heartbeat picks up but she inclines her head in question, keeping the uptick of adrenaline off her face. “Tommy said Thea hasn’t been feeling well lately, heard it from Laurel. I hope she starts feeling better,” Malcolm finishes pleasantly.

Moira makes herself smile, keeping her fingers from curling. “Thank you. I do as well. I think it’s just the stress of nearly being arrested and having to learn from it. The consequences of her actions are catching up with her.”

“Just be glad she’s learning now,” Malcolm replies good naturedly, pulling one of the doors open with a wry smile, “It took Tommy nearly as twice as long.”

She nods with another smile and watches him leave, gaze following him through her office’s glass walls until he’s past the elevator wall. Her smile slides off her face as she sits back down, letting a breath out slow, hands pressed flat to her desk. She searches the paperwork across it in thought, brows drawing together.

She needs to get the phone from Thea and warn Wilson, who can hopefully warn Oliver. If not…

She looks out the windows, lips pressing firmly together.

She doesn’t know what she’ll do, but she can’t lose her boy again, not again. _She can’t._

\-----

Felicity walks quickly into the factory, not slowing even at Shado’s huff. “I know he’s your friend, or was your friend, is?” she babbles, “But I don’t trust him. I don’t trust him, _I don’t trust him, I don’t_ -” She gets the basement door thrown open and hurries down, stopping when her eyes land on Wilson looking over from the cot and no sign of Oliver.

She walks the rest of the way down, inching out to look left down the other end of the room, finding Oliver sitting in his bloody, black robes with his back to the wall where he used to sit before, eerie green eyes already watching her.

She blows out a breath as Shado comes down the stairs behind her. “You’re _okay_ ,” Felicity says, eyes swiveling back to Wilson, relieved. He raises an eyebrow at her and she shrugs helplessly, heading over to the table to set down her bag and tablet, giving Oliver a hard stare where he’s _still_ watching her all...creepy-like. “Do you ever blink?” she demands. He frowns a little but drags his eyes away and she feels like she can breathe easier.

Felicity: One

Scary, ex-playboy assassin: Zero

“I _am_ capable of defending myself,” Wilson says dryly behind her and she whirls around.

“ _You_ have been unconscious since yesterday!” she lets out, gesturing at him and then behind her to Oliver, “And he’s armed! Not that I don’t think he couldn’t kill you with his bare hands in your _sleep!_ ”

“ _Felicity_ ,” Shado scolds before bending down next to the cot to check Wilson’s bandages. He rolls his eye up towards the ceiling when she bats his hands away, then pulls the bandages off once she’s satisfied he’s healed enough. He settles back on the cot after, eye landing back on Felicity.

“We came to an understanding,” he says evenly.

Oliver’s eyes shift away to glare across at the wall while Felicity frowns, looking between them. Shado puts the bandage in an outer pocket on her bag to dispose of later. Oliver gets up from the floor, drawing their eyes over, and heads straight for the stairs.

“Will you come back?” Shado asks. He doesn’t look over or pause, or answer, instead disappearing up into the factory and slamming the basement door shut behind him.

“Guess that’s a ‘no’?” Felicity asks, brows drawn together, “Is it wrong that I hope he doesn’t come back?”

Slade stares up towards the door, lips pressing together.

\--

Al Sah-him runs across the rooftops back to the clock tower, focusing on the feel of his shoes hitting the pavement instead of the thoughts still echoing off the walls in his head. He leaps from one roof to the next, focusing on the landing, the jump, the activity below. He slips into the clock tower building, up the stairs to the top hall and pulls the ceiling door down, slipping up and closing it behind him. He stops, takes a breath, and then it all crashes back down around him like a tide.

_“You think you’re the only one who went through shit the last four years? Who doesn’t want to face what he is? Who’s kept up all damn night by the ghosts rattling his cage? It’d be **easier** to push you away.”_

_Slade stares steadily up at him. “Going to do it?_ ”

He yanks the daggers out of his belt and throws them with a sharp sound caged in the back of his throat, both embedding in the clock tower wall. His chest heaves, anger and frustration swallowing him whole, breaths coming in and out like a steam engine and he grits his teeth, tries to slow it back down.

 _I can’t kill him_ , he thinks, swallowing, _I want to. I don’t want to_.

He shakes his head hard and stalks over to his civilian clothes, tugging his robes off and dropping them carelessly on the floor before changing. He grabs his cash and the phone and heads back out to get food and stop- _stop thinking_.

He finds a pizza place he hasn’t tried, keeps his head down and his sunglasses on even though the sun’s down. But it’s the city and he’s not the only one doing it, so no one spares him a second glance at his red and white checkered table in the back corner. He keeps his mind blank, purposefully focuses on his surroundings, the taste of the greasy food going in his mouth, the news report about the museum massacre on the television in the corner:

“ _We shot one of the vigilantes as they were trying to get away_ ,” the police Captain says in an interview on the screen.

Oliver’s jaw clenches and he takes another bite of his pizza to cover it.

“ _If you’ve seen anyone shot point blank in the chest or find the body of the vigilante, call the police immediately. We also managed to confiscate the Wraith’s weapons, so he might try and steal some more. If anyone finds weapons of any kind stolen from their shops, specifically a bow and arrows or swords, or knives, call the task force hotline_.”

He thinks of Slade on the metal table, screaming, and forces himself to take another bite as his heartbeat picks up.

He thinks of Slade on the cot, breathing raspy, forces himself to take another and chew it slow, staring ahead out the window at the people passing by on the sidewalk under the streetlights, couples holding hands, groups of friends laughing, people walking home carrying briefcases from work.

He thinks of the dagger pressed to Slade’s neck, of Slade stepping in front of Lance and taking the bullet aimed for his chest-

 _I don’t want him dead_ , chimes through his head, quiet and clear as a bell.

Then what _does_ he want? He can’t kill him, won’t kill him, doesn’t _want_ to kill him. Lance tried and everything he was froze, _he_ tried and _he_ froze, so what-

_Something brushes his forehead and it’s enough for Oliver to crack his eyes open, opening them a little further when he finds Slade’s eyes right there, right in front him, the brown nearly black in the shadow as their foreheads press together-_

_Slade stares down at him, breathing a little raspy and a light sweat on his brow again, but his eye is focused and intent-_

He forces the thoughts away and finishes his food, leaves, goes to the low rent gym and showers, brushes his teeth, washes his hair. He wanders the city after, veers left when his feet try taking him to the Queen mansion and finds a roof to sit on in the city instead, trying to will the sounds of the area to drown out his thoughts: the cars passing by, the roar of motorcycle engines, the _ting_ of bicycle bells, chatter below and feet on pavement, dogs barking, pigeons cooing, the distant bass of a club’s music playing too loud. It helps make his thoughts go static and fuzzy and he curls up a little more in the alcove against the brick chimney he’s leaning his shoulder against, hands dug deep into his hoodie pockets and knees pulled up.

It reminds him of the island almost, like he’s curled up against a tree again, listening to the water stream behind him, the babble and gurgle of it hitting the rocks like it’s having a conversation with itself, with him, with the forest, with anything that will listen, back and forth, back and forth, heedless of a response. It’d helped his thoughts unspool then too, took them down the stream with it to the waterfall drop at the end, carried everything away for just a moment, just one minute of peace in all the chaos.

He falls asleep at some point, woken by the sun peeking above the horizon the next morning, shining into his face above the sunglasses that have slipped down his nose during the night. He pushes them back up and takes a slow breath of the morning air, allowing himself a few minutes to just exist before checking the phone in his pocket. It’s been silent all night, but he flips it open and checks it anyway, closing it and slipping it back in when he finds nothing new. He pushes himself to his feet and walks to the edge of the roof, looking out at the city. It’s still early enough to be quiet in this part, just some cars coming and going off to the left and right of the building as the sun slowly washes everything in gold.

The distance and time have calmed him, but he still doesn’t have any answers.

He scans the area and alley below, drops down into it after making sure it’s clear and walks, finds his feet taking him back up into the Glades. He scales the fence back onto the factory’s property and walks up to the door.

He pauses, takes a breath.

There’s no cars out front, but he pulls the sliding door open enough to slip inside anyway and then closes it behind him, heading for the basement door towards the back. He tries the handle and it pulls open, stairway dim. He takes the stairs down, slowing when his eyes catch on Slade standing alone next to the table, two swords laid out on it. Shado, Smoak, and Diggle are gone.

Slade doesn’t look at him, instead looks over the blade in his hand, turning it a little and holding it up to the blue tinted light coming in through the blue tarp covered window at the other end of the room.

Oliver slows to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, hands in his pockets.

It’s silent for a minute.

“You’re still here,” he says eventually, quietly.

“You came back,” Slade replies in kind, lowering the blade and then sweeping it back up with a low rush of sound. It’s the same sword from the island, unless he got a replacement, sharp and straight with gaps in the center, jagged teeth in the middle and a sharp curve at the end. It does damage going in, does even more coming out, the ‘teeth’ in the middle perfect for shredding up insides. It’s always suited him.

Oliver watches him. Slade lowers the sword and finally looks over, eye patch off. It makes Oliver’s heartbeat pick up a little, the guilt kick him sharp in the ribs, and he takes a slow breath. Slade looks down at the swords on the table and reaches over, tossing him the one from the League. Oliver catches it by the sheathe, keeping eyes on him. Slade must have taken it back from the police at some point, probably to try and keep the police unaware of the League, covering up _his_ mistake.

“Shado was right,” Slade starts after a moment, eyes shifting down to the table, then back up to him, “I don’t know how to talk to you with words. They were never our strong suit.” Oliver presses his lips together and Slade walks past the table towards the end of the room, stopping in the center of the open space. He turns around and gets into position, raising his sword, back to the tarp.

Oliver watches him for a long moment, the way his muscles are tense, ready, the scars peeking out of his black tank top, the ghost-smoke of his right eye blindly watching him with his brown one. Oliver reaches up and pulls the zipper of his hoodie down and slides it off, stepping forward to set it on the closest end of the table. He pulls his sword out, setting the sheathe next to the hoodie before walking forward, stopping opposite Slade and raising his blade.

“So,” Slade says, dark and light eyes still watching him, “Talk to me.”

Oliver takes a breath, feels the adrenaline kick up with his heartbeat and all the- anger, the confusion, the mixed, _conflicting_ emotions and runs forward. Slade’s blade catches his and Slade’s breathing is steady, so Oliver- Al Sah-him- _whoever he is_ , lets go and _pushes_ , spinning around with a kick before following through with his sword. Slade blocks both, shoves him back and aims for his side, his arm, his throat, his thigh, blade and fists moving in tandem.

They both spin, opposite directions, swords hitting off each other. Oliver runs for a wall and Slade follows him, runs up and pushes off it in a backflip while striking out with his sword, hitting nothing but metal. He lands and whirls low and Slade flips his blade down to block his, landing a punch to his jaw. Al Sah-him moves with it, spinning the opposite direction and getting his hands on the floor, kicking up. Slade grabs his leg and he grunts, twists at the last minute and gets his other leg around the back of Slade’s neck as the anger jumps and spikes, the- _everything_ , rolling them both to the floor. Slade pries his leg off and rolls away, cutting his side on the way and Al Sah-him chases after him, pushing himself up with a low growl. He cuts, slashes, feels Slade’s blade hit his arm again, his torso, his side, his back, leaves his own cuts on Slade’s outer thigh, his shoulder, his side, his forearm.

They keep moving and he loses track of time, lets the- training fall away and the anger guide him, the guilt, the emotions, teeth gritted and heart pumping loud in his ears. Time disappears as the blue light in the room slowly shifts, gets dimmer, then brighter. Slade tangles their swords together on the next hit and it flies out of his hand. Oliver runs forward and shoves him back against the wall, all finesse gone, and twists Slade’s wrist enough for Slade to lose his own sword, metal clattering to cement. Slade shoves him off and Oliver punches him across the jaw. A boot connects with his stomach and he lands on his back on the floor, rolling back with the motion up into a crouch and snarling as he pushes up, running.

Slade meets him head on, eyes hard and teeth bared, and they collide, pushing and shoving at each other. His back hits something solid and their noses brush and then he goes completely still, Slade matching him. They stare at one another as they pant, chests heaving and scant inches between them, Slade’s hands around his wrist and shoulder, Oliver’s gripped in Slade’s tank top and around his forearm. Slade watches him for a long minute and then his expression shifts, brows lowering a little as they watch each other. Oliver’s heart beats hard and fast in his chest and he swallows, can’t tell if it’s from exertion anymore or from-

Slade’s hand moves up from his shoulder to his jaw and Oliver’s breath hitches, heart beating harder. Slade studies him, watches him close, and Oliver swallows again.

“I hate you,” he whispers after a minute, so raw and honest it tears up his chest and throat on the way out. The grip on his jaw tightens a little.

“I hate you, too,” Slade replies, low and rough, almost a growl, brows drawing down.

They stare at each other. Slade pulls back a little and Oliver’s grip tightens and Slade stops, eyes searching his. Slade’s brown one goes dark, conflicted with that same something- something Oliver buried a long time ago, something he thought he buried a long time ago.

“You were gone,” Oliver whispers, slips past his lips and he immediately presses them together after, brows lowering as he mentally kicks himself.

“So were you,” Slade whispers back, and Oliver watches him, holding his stare.

They watch each other for another tense minute, just breathing.

The feeling in his chest is strange, Oliver doesn’t recognize it at first. “Is this ‘later’?” he finally asks, voice hushed, brows drawing together a little.

Slade keeps watching him for a moment and then leans forward, and Oliver’s lips part just before Slade’s press to his. He makes a sound in the back of his throat, isn’t sure what it is, but Slade grips his jaw tighter and Oliver yanks him closer, chests pressing flush together as he tilts his head and Slade deepens the kiss, presses his head back to the wall, stubble rough and grounding against his chin, the corners of his mouth. He lets go of Slade’s arm and slides a hand up the back of his neck over his short hair, fingers curling with the- _want_. He’s feeling _want_. Slade growls low and quiet in his mouth and wraps an arm around his waist, pressing them closer. Oliver makes another sound, quiet like they might get caught, and Slade just presses into him even more, trapping him against the wall.

He doesn’t feel fireworks or butterflies, but a weight that’s been sitting in his chest for the past four years lifts while another sinks. Something _shifts_ , doesn’t click, but slides into a place he thought he closed off all those years ago, and it lights up his insides like a slow sunrise, warm, all encompassing, unexpected. He’s not sure if he likes it, but he doesn’t _stop_.

Oliver presses harder into the kiss and sucks in breath through his nose when teeth sharply nip his lower lip, tries to press closer and moans faintly when Slade’s tongue brushes the tip of his, and then it’s sliding into his mouth and searching, persistent. Oliver slides his own against it, sucks on it and shudders faintly when Slade growls again, the sound rumbling low against his chest where they’re pressed together. He should feel more conflicted than he does, he should stop, and those feelings are there, but they’re distant and fuzzy, and he grips Slade tighter, tries to pull him closer.

He hooks a leg up over Slade’s waist and the hand on his jaw slides down the side of his neck, his chest, pressing over his t-shirt down to his waist and then around to lift his ass. Oliver wraps his legs around Slade’s waist and Slade presses him just that much further into the wall, grinding their hips hard together. Oliver sucks in a breath, moans again as he grows hard and pulls his head back, dragging his eyes open. Slade’s lips drag down his lower lip and chin, trail the edge of his jaw until they find the scar. Slade’s head pulls back and he looks at it, slides a hand out from under Oliver and reaches up, pulling back a little more and slowly sliding his fingers down the start of it on Oliver’s cheek, over the curve of his jaw and down the side of his neck, dragging the collar of his t-shirt down.

Slade looks back up. “How far does it go?” he asks, voice quiet, rough, guilt and anger and tension lined underneath.

Oliver holds his stare for a moment and then lets go and reaches down, pulls his shirt up and off and drops it to the floor. Slade’s eyes follow his movements and then drop back down to the scar, taking it in. It curves down, over his collarbone and down the side of his chest towards his bicep. Slade’s fingers find it again, start at his cheek and slowly trace it all the way down. Oliver shudders faintly, nipples hardening as he pulls in a breath, feels cold and like he’s burning all at once.

Slade eventually looks back up, eyes dark and- “I’m sorry,” he says, voice still low, quiet, but sincere.

Oliver slowly reaches up, hesitates briefly before resting his fingertips lightly below Slade’s right eye. “I’m sorry,” he says back slowly, quietly.

Slade watches him a minute and then leans up and Oliver bends down, kisses him again, fingers sliding down to cup Slade’s stubbled jaw. “We really ruined each other, didn’t we,” Slade mutters between them, pulling back a little to press their foreheads together.

Oliver cracks his eyes open, looking down, and Slade looks up. Slade’s hand trails down his side, over the long, mess of scarring in his left side, making his muscles jump a little. “This is probably a bad idea,” Oliver agrees quietly.

Slade studies him. “Do you want to stop?”

Oliver studies him back, taking a minute to really think about it.

He should stop. They should stop. They’ll damage each other, more than they have already. Oliver still doesn’t know how to be a person, doesn’t know who he is, what this is. Slade has a son, has a whole other life outside of this city. He’s only here because of an old promise and his sense of guilt. They’re both wanted fugitives. Oliver tried to kill him, nearly did before everything, nearly got him killed the other _night_.

There’s so many reasons they should stop.

“...No,” he answers. Slade watches him, brows drawn low and together a little. This time Oliver bends down and kisses him first, dips his tongue into Slade’s mouth and Slade responds without hesitation, presses Oliver’s tongue to the roof of his own mouth and then sucks on it. Slade grinds forward again and Oliver sucks in a breath, already hard and leaking in his pants. He hasn’t-

He hasn’t been with anyone but himself in- a long time. It was never at the forefront of his mind during his training, not even with Sara. Not that he didn’t think about it, but he was focused on his training, on changing, on mastering the mirakuru in his system and becoming Al Sah-him. Sex was the last thing on his mind.

“This isn’t going to last long,” Oliver mumbles between them, rolling his hips back as he pants quietly.

Slade growls low and grinds forward harder. “Don’t care,” he grunts back, pulling Oliver away from the wall and getting them to the floor.

Oliver tightens his legs around Slade’s waist and grinds up as Slade grinds down, digging his fingers into Slade’s back and gripping his tank top in a tight fist. Slade’s mouth finds his again as he gets a hand between them, fumbling with the front of their pants. Oliver reaches down to help, gets his own open while Slade gets his and shoves them down enough to free his cock, groaning loudly into Slade’s mouth when they rub together, precum spreading slick between them and easing the friction. Oliver pants through his nose as the pleasure shudders through him, up his spine, mingling with the pain, kisses turning messy as they grind harder.

Oliver hooks his leg tighter and pushes against the floor with the other, rolling them, straddling Slade and sitting up. Slade’s hand wraps around their cocks and strokes, firm and slow and Oliver groans, eyes going half-lidded and thoughts hazy as he stares down, Slade’s dark eye focused on him. It’s different from the training on the island, or the fighting in the city, the talks they never knew how to have, but just as intent and focused as everything Slade does.

He braces his hands on Slade’s chest and rocks forward into his grip, panting harder as the pleasure licks up the base of his spine, holding Slade’s stare as it steadily climbs higher and higher, a furnace beneath his skin. Slade reaches up, slides a hand roughly back through Oliver’s hair and nearly pulls his ponytail out, tugging it down low and over his shoulder, loose strands hanging wispily every which way. The hand slides around his scarred side to his back, calloused fingers dragging down the curved length of his spine and making him shudder. They pause at his lower back when they find the brand, pausing and slowly tracing the arrow-shape of it. Oliver jerks his hips forward harder to make him refocus and Slade groans a rough, low growl, stroking his hand harder, faster along their cocks. Slade’s fingers slide down beneath his pants and grip his ass and Oliver’s hips jerk as he comes with a loud groan, eyes squeezing shut and hips rocking through it as the pleasure zigzags up his spine and whites out his thoughts, making him shudder.

He feels Slade come soon after, warm cum hitting his lower stomach. Oliver shudders again at the sound of Slade’s rough moan and drops, cheek pressing to Slade’s shoulder as he pants, trying to catch his breath.

“This was a bad idea,” he pants softly after a few minutes. Slade rolls them and braces a hand near his head, pushing himself up a bit to stare down at him, still panting a little too. Slade grinds their cocks together again and Oliver groans, both already half hard.

“Are you going to stop me from doing it again?” Slade asks, voice low and rougher than usual, like gravel.

Oliver stares up at him for a few moments before reaching up and dragging his head down, slotting their mouths together and groaning roughly into Slade’s mouth as he grinds up.

\-----

“You called and said the D.N.A. test results are in?” Lance asks as he walks into the lab, heading over to the lone technician at the far work area.

“Yes,” the technician replies, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose as she looks up from her monitor, “But they have to be wrong.”

“You said that on the phone,” Lance says, coming over and to a stop at her left and looking at the screen, “But you didn’t say why-” He stops, staring.

Oliver Queen’s smirking mugshot stares back with a genetic sequence laid out to the left.

“But that’s impossible,” he mutters.

“That’s why I said it had to be wrong,” the technician replies, turning her eyes back to the screen, “This man’s been dead for the past five years.”

Lance stares for a long minute, eyes searching Queen’s face. The usual anger is there, the _blame_ , but right now it’s engulfed by the confusion, the question marks lining his eyes. This doesn’t make _sense_.

“Can you...just keep this between the two of us?” he asks slowly, looking over and quickly adding at her look, “For now, I mean. I want to look into this further without drawing attention to it, in case it’s nothing. In case it’s something.”

She raises an eyebrow but nods after a moment and he looks back to the screen, brows drawing together.

Why was _Oliver Queen’s_ blood found at the vigilante crime scene?

\-----

He steps off the plane and pulls his phone out, checking the GPS tracking against the pulled up map before pocketing it and heading for the car rental desk.

“Hello, how may I help you?” the woman behind the desk smiles, light, curly brown hair pulled back and lips a dark but vibrant shade of red.

“I need a car,” he answers, coming to a stop and resting his forearm up on the counter ledge, duffel bag strap gripped over his shoulder with his other hand.

“Alright. Do you know for how long?” she asks, eyes turning to her screen as she types.

“Not sure,” he answers, “Better try a week for now.”

“Okay,” she returns, glancing back up with another smile after a moment, “What name should I put it under?”

“Joe Wilson,” Joe answers with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> F-finally. UNDER 100K TATCH


	21. These walls are closing, closing you in, nowhere to run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have looked at this chapter wAY TOO MANY TIMES, but I think doing so helped. I was really tired and ghsdfjdsl yesterday, and then I got in a fight with the timeline. I'm not sure who won. This chapter got really long too.  
> THANK YOU AGAIN TATCH FOR LETTING ME RAMBLE AT YOU TO TRY AND SOLVE THE TIMELINE SHENANIGANS. FDsjkl. OTL [/lays down face first in floor]

Oliver pants, eyes closed and arms loose at his sides, one pinned under Slade’s weight while his body trembles faintly. 

They fucked again, and then one more time, didn’t even get out of their pants but it’s left him shaky and overstimulated. He never tested it this way, but the mirakuru has his refractory time cut down to nearly nothing. He could probably go again, but he doesn’t push for it, and neither does Slade. They just lay there, Slade’s hot breaths puffing against the scar lining the side of his neck. Lips brush over it and Oliver turns his head away a little, holding his breath. It’s almost too much, but then they press firmly, stubble scratching, and he lets the breath out shaky and slow, fingers curling a little. Slade doesn’t do anything else. Part of Oliver wishes he would, part of him is glad he doesn’t. The weight pinning half of him to the floor should feel more confining than it does, should make him move, but just like when Slade pinned him against the wall earlier, he doesn’t.

He’s not sure how long they lay there, just breathing, existing in the same space without fighting for the first time in years, but at some point he hears a car roll up out front and finally makes himself sit up, Slade shifting off him and sitting back, watching as he stands.

“Running?” Slade asks, low and quiet, like the hush filling the room.

Oliver looks away to the wall as he tucks himself in, zips up his pants, sweeping his shirt up off the floor on the way to the table and using it to try and clean up some of the mess dried on his stomach, tossing it to Slade after. He throws his hoodie on, sees Slade stand in his periphery as he zips it up, and then heads for the window. Slade catches his bicep on the way and Oliver stills, looking up. Slade leans closer and their noses nearly brush. Oliver tilts his head a little more before he catches himself, the two of them watching each other. 

“I’m not running,” Oliver says quietly, “I need to-...” He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. He needs to think, process, needs space, somewhere alone. They shouldn’t have done what they did, they shouldn’t have-

Slade closes the distance and slots their mouths together and Oliver’s thoughts cut off before they can spiral, eyes falling shut without his permission while he sucks in a faint breath through his nose. He returns the kiss, pushes into it a little as his brows draw together, shuddering faintly from all the- _stimulation_ , the touches, the rough feel of Slade’s stubble against his chin, the hand tightening its grip on his arm. It’d be so easy to let all of it carry him away again.

He brushes their tongues together before he catches himself again and makes himself pull back, taking a breath. “I need to think,” he finishes on the exhale, brows lowering, “I can’t do that with you doing _that_ , or your friends accusing me.”

Slade huffs faintly but slowly lets his arm go, straightening. They both hear steps approach the basement door but don’t take their eyes off one another. “You have the phone,” Slade says quietly, “Should still work for a couple days if you haven’t used it.”

It’s an offer and an easy way out, but a line of contact all the same. 

Oliver steps past him and Slade lets him go, Oliver slipping between the tarp and wall and out the broken window just as the basement door handle turns.

Slade watches the tarp for a moment longer before getting his own shirt up off the floor, cleaning up his stomach as much as he can with the t-shirt before pulling his tank on and turning towards the steps slowly coming down the stairs behind him, eye landing on-

He freezes, eyes widening a little. 

“Joe…?” he asks.

“Father,” Joe replies slowly, coming to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, eyes locked on his-

Slade’s jaw clenches and he glances around for his eyepatch, even though it’s too late to hide the damage. He was only doing it before because it drew less attention while he was out in the city, but his son seeing it is a whole different matter.

Joe eventually drags his eyes away from it, around the room, taking in the weapons and table before they land back on Slade. “You’ve been busy.”

Slade glances up again, stares a moment longer before snapping out of it and straightening, fingers curling a little tighter in Oliver’s shirt. “You tracked my phone,” he says.

“That’s why you still have it, isn’t it?” Joe asks as he steps further into the room, but it’s not really a question. That _is_ why Slade is still using it and didn’t leave it behind in Australia, why he didn’t switch to an untraceable burner. In case Joe needed to find him, or call him for emergencies.

“I wasn’t expecting you to come here,” Slade says.

“I wasn’t expecting you to leave after barely being home,” Joe replies sharper, and Slade’s jaw clenches as the guilt punches him in the chest, “But here you are, playing vigilante in another country.” Joe looks around the room again and then the door to the basement opens and they both look up. “Associates?” Joe asks, glancing back to him briefly.

Slade takes a breath to steel himself as Shado and Felicity come down the stairs, both slowing when they catch sight of the newcomer.

“Who is...this?” Felicity asks, gripping her bag and tablet tighter while Shado shifts further in front of her, tense, eyes darting between the two of them.

“Joe Wilson,” Joe introduces himself, studying them both. 

Felicity’s back straightens as her eyes widen, darting between Joe and Slade. “Ah,” she says haltingly, “I see the resemblance now. The tan skin, the accent, the showing up in places without warning.” 

Slade slants her a look while Shado walks the rest of the way down the stairs, Felicity jolting a little and quickly following. 

“And you two are?” Joe asks, turning more towards them.

“Felicity,” Felicity quickly introduces herself, jerking a hand out once she’s close enough, “Smoak.” Joe slowly shakes it with the hand not holding his duffel straps over his shoulder, studying her another moment before shifting his eyes to Shado.

“Gulong Shado,” Shado answers, still watching him. Her eyes dart to Slade again before she walks over to the table, taking note of his sword on the other end and the League sheathe on the one closest to her, the two swords on the floor further down the room. She slowly sets her bag and bow and arrows down and looks back up to Slade. His eyes find hers and she inclines her head slightly in question; he lowers his in answer. She lets out a slow breath, relief flooding her before focusing back on their guest.

“I...take it you’re here to take your dad home,” Felicity surmises, making a face as she shuffles over to the table and sets her bag and tablet down in the middle, muttering to herself, “It’s weird calling him _‘dad’_.”

“I am. If he’ll listen to _reason_ ,” Joe replies pointedly towards Slade, half turning back to look at him. Slade grips the t-shirt tighter, walking over to grab the swords up off the floor and then heading to the table, sheathing Oliver’s. Joe’s eyes follow him, flicking between his father’s swords and the one he doesn’t recognize. “Impromptu sword session?” he asks, watching him closer.

Slade glances over at him while Felicity looks between the swords and then up to Slade. “Did Oliver stop by- Oh,” she cuts herself off, slapping a hand over her mouth at his warning glare.

Joe frowns, brows drawing together a little while looking between them. “Who’s ‘Oliver’?” he asks, focusing back on his father, “He have anything to do with that ‘debt’ you were talking about coming here to repay?”

“Yes,” Slade grits out, sliding the League sword towards Shado before rounding the table to grab his other one, carrying them both back to the cot and sliding them into their own sheathes, shoving the t-shirt into his bag to deal with later. He takes a breath and finally drags his eyes over to his son. “Let’s go,” he says, grabbing his jacket and keffiyeh and throwing both on, digging his sunglasses out and making sure he has his phone before heading for the stairs.

Joe frowns a little more, glancing back briefly to Shado and Felicity before following, taking his bag up with him.

Felicity and Shado watch them go, then Felicity slowly takes a seat, tapping at her bluetooth. “Guess I’ll let Diggle know we’ve got a guest,” she says dryly. “For a ‘secret lair’, people sure keep showing up. I’d bring up moving if I actually knew where to move us _to_. Maybe I should look into that...” she trails off, turning her attention to her bluetooth. “Hey, Dig, it’s me. Just giving you a heads up, but Slade’s son is here.” A pause. “Yes. _Right?_ So weird. No, I’m not sure…”

Shado lets Felicity’s words slip into the background as she watches the basement door a few moments longer, then looks over to the tarp covered window, then down at the League sword next to her bow and arrows. 

Oliver came back, like her and Slade hoped he might, but she wonders if whatever happened after she left actually helped.

\-----

“ _Dad_ ,” Laurel greets, smiling when he bends close to press a kiss to her cheek.

“Laurel,” he returns with his own smile, guiding her over to their table with a hand at her back. She raises her eyebrows a bit but sits when he pulls her seat out for her, watching him take his own seat across the candle light in the center of the table.

“Fancy,” she comments, looking around, smiling as the waiter comes over and accepting a menu with a, “Thank you.” She flips it open, eyebrows rising again at the selection. “Really fancy,” she says, looking back up. “What’s the occasion?” she asks suspiciously.

“Do I need an occasion to take my daughter out to a nice dinner?” Lance asks. Her growing smile slowly spreads and he feels a twinge of guilt in his chest, but he needs- “No Queen today?” he asks casually, glancing up from scanning his own menu.

“She came to work today, if that’s what you mean,” Laurel answers while taking a sip of her water, frowning a little.

“Glad to hear she’s feeling better,” he replies, wincing when Laurel raises an incredulous eyebrow. Okay, so maybe that was a bit much. “What?” he asks, “Just because I don’t like the family doesn’t mean I want them to keel over from coughing up a lung or something.”

Laurel purses her lips, brows drawing together. “We both blame Oliver for what happened to Sara, but Thea wasn’t a part of that.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Lance replies, subdued, raising his hands in mock-surrender, “It’s just...hard, not to group them all together. You know?”

Laurel drops her eyes to the table, setting her glass back down. “I know,” she says quietly. She really doesn’t blame Thea for what happened, or hate her, doesn’t feel remotely anything towards Thea that she does Oliver, but...her father’s right. It was hard for a while.

“So,” Lance says after a minute, drawing Laurel’s attention back up, “She _is_ feeling better?” he tries. 

Laurel nods, lips pursing after a moment, and Lance holds his breath. “Although,” she starts slowly after a beat, eyes focused on her water glass, “I’m not entirely sure it’s...about catching a cold.” 

She glances up and he makes himself take a breath. “How do you mean?” he asks. Laurel watches him for a long moment and he tries to keep himself from fidgeting, either out of nervousness or anticipation, maybe a bit of both. 

“What will happen to anyone who might know something about the vigilantes but doesn’t speak up, and you find out? Nothing major, just something small,” she asks cautiously.

“Theoretically?” he asks, heart beating faster in his chest. He can smell blood in the water, and god, maybe that makes him a horrible person for directing it at his daughter, but his instincts are usually on the money after doing this for so long. “They would be arrested,” he answers. Laurel’s mouth pinches. “But…” he continues slowly, “If a friend of my little girl’s was just in over her head, or _their_ head…” He shrugs a little while she keeps watching him. “I wouldn’t be inclined to arrest her- or them. Especially if they came forward voluntarily. Or, say, an attorney happened to get wind of some information and let her old man know.”

“You want me to spy on my friend?” Laurel asks, brows drawing together as she frowns.

“I want you to help keep a young girl _safe_ and help me get these maniacs off our streets,” he replies, leaning forward on his forearms on the table, going in for the kill, “You know what the bodycount is, Laurel, and there was at least ten more last night.”

Her mouth pinches again and she drops her eyes to the table candle in thought, watching the flame shift and flicker. She jerks out of her trance when their waiter comes back over after a few minutes and sets their appetizers down, giving him a grateful smile before he goes, but her eyes are already going distanced again before he’s even fully turned away. 

She looks back to her father after another minute. “I’ll see what I can do,” she says slowly. “ _If_ there’s anything to do anything about,” she adds warningly.

“That’s all I ask,” Lance breathes, triumph a heady elation. The Queen’s are connected _somehow,_ he _knows_ it, he’s just not sure _how_ yet.

\-----

“Thea,” Moira greets, spreading her arms as her daughter walks into the living room. Thea laughs a little but walks over, stepping into her hug and returning it. It helps settle some of the worry Moira’s had for her for the past week.

“I was just at work, mom,” Thea protests without any heat, chin resting on her shoulder. 

Moira squeezes her tight, running a hand down the back of her hair. “I know, but it’s good to hear you laugh,” she replies. She pulls back after a minute and looks at Thea, then her expression sobers and Thea frowns a little, tilting her head a fraction. Moira glances to the bodyguards just past the entryway and gives them a smile before turning and smoothly taking Thea’s arm, gently guiding her further into the living room. “I need to borrow your phone,” she says quietly.

“My what?” Thea asks, looking over at her, “Why?”

Moira guides them down to sit, gripping Thea’s arm a little tighter. “I need to warn Mr. Wilson about something so he can warn our... _friend_ ,” she says low and meaningful. 

Thea stares at her, blinking a little. “You mean- Oh,” she stops, her mother’s words finally clicking. Her brows furrow. “Warn him of what? Why?”

“ _Please_ , Thea,” Moira pleads urgently. 

Thea frowns but slowly digs the phone out of her pocket and hands it to her. Moira gives her a grateful look and flips it open, keying to the contacts and dialing the only one available.

\--

Slade waits until they’re near the factory entrance before saying, “You shouldn’t be here,” stopping and turning around to face his son. God, it’s good to see him, but he _shouldn’t be here_.

“You’re lucky it’s me and not someone else from the agency,” Joe snaps back quick, lowering his voice as he leans closer, “Running around this city as a vigilante? Killing people without being under contract? Father, the agency hasn’t suspended or fired you yet only because no one has any public, solid proof it’s _you_. But you knew that already, didn’t you.” Slade doesn’t say anything and Joe’s frustration- _anger_ rises. “Some cop here ran your blood. A.S.I.S. blocked it. I didn’t just come to try and bring you back, they sent me as a warning.”

Slade’s jaw clenches and he turns his head to look out the gap in the factory’s slider door, glare from a nearby street lamp reflecting off the tops of the cars parked out front, the new one he’s renting and what must be his son’s.

Wait.

“Did they run anyone else’s blood?” he asks, eyes darting back.

Joe frowns, shaking his head a little. “I don’t know. If they did, it didn’t show because they’re not in our database.”

Slade looks back out the door, frowning. It was a longshot asking, but he should warn Oliver anyway. If the police ran _his_ blood from their escape attempt, chances are they ran Oliver’s too. Slade wasn’t the only one bleeding that night, from what he remembers. He digs his phone out, pausing when it vibrates in his hand. He growls under his breath at the burner number that pops up and answers it. “ _What?_ ” he demands.

“ _Mr. Wilson_ ,” Moira Queen’s voice comes through, low and urgent, making him pause again. “ _I’m calling to discuss a mutual friend of ours. He needs to be warned._ ” 

Slade tenses. “Warned of what?” he asks slowly. Joe shifts a little and Slade glances at him briefly.

“ _An assassin named ‘Deadshot’,”_ Moira answers, tension in her voice.

“How do you know this?” he asks, suspicion coiling in his chest.

“ _That’s not important right now_ ,” Moira replies firmly, voice hushed, “ _Can you warn him or not?_ ”

“Yes,” he answers. She hangs up before he can say anything else and he frowns at his phone before pulling up the texts to Oliver, tapping a new one out while he heads back for the basement door.

“Going out again?” Joe demands, making him stop, “We’re not finished.”

Slade clenches his jaw. “I have something I need to take care of,” he replies, starting for the door again, “We’ll finish later.”

Joe stares after his father’s retreating back for a moment before sighing and following. “Somehow I doubt that,” he mutters.

\--

Moira lets out a breath, hanging up and closing the phone, staring down at it before Thea takes it back, jolting her out of her thoughts.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Thea demands, slipping the phone back into her pocket, “What do you mean an-” She stops, lowering her voice as she looks around before focusing back on her mother. “What do you mean an _assassin?!_ ” she hisses, hushed.

Moira presses her lips together and takes a slow breath. “Thea, I just need you to trust me,” she says firmly.

“I don’t know if I can if you’re keeping stuff like this from me,” Thea snaps back, standing up. 

Moira reaches for her but Thea quickly moves away, stalking out of the room, and Moira’s heart twists in her chest. She lowers her hand back to her lap and drops her eyes to the table while pressing her lips firmly together.

Thea can’t know the how or the why, not now. Not ever.

\--

Diggle watches Thea storm out and head straight for the stairs.

“Everything alright, Ma’am?” he calls.

“What’s your definition?!” she calls back as she runs up, not stopping or turning around.

He sighs quietly, glancing into the living room where Moira Queen is sitting on the couch, head a little low, before shaking his own. It’s one thing dealing with her daughter _and_ her son, but now _Wilson’s_ son is here.

He rolls his eyes up to the ceiling before closing them.

“I’m not getting paid enough,” he mutters, shaking his head again. He just hopes this ‘Joe Wilson’ isn’t as much of a pain in the ass as his father is.

He pauses, then sighs after a moment, turning and heading for the left hall.

“Yeah right,” he mutters, “When have we been that lucky?”

\-----

Oliver stares out at the cars coming and going below through the crack in the clock face window, forehead resting on his forearm against the glass. He focuses briefly on the sirens that get closer before moving away again, thoughts drifting off with them for the millionth time.

“ _You’re still here.”_

 _“You came back_.

He takes a breath.

“ _So, talk to me_.”

 _He runs, blade raised_ -

Closes his eyes.

_“Is this ‘later’?” he finally asks, voice hushed, brows drawing together a little._

_Slade keeps watching him for a moment and then leans forward, and Oliver’s lips part just before Slade’s press to his. He makes a sound in the back of his throat, isn’t sure what it is, but Slade grips his jaw tighter and Oliver yanks him closer, chests pressing flush together as he tilts his head and Slade deepens the kiss, presses his head back to the wall, stubble rough and grounding against his chin, the corners of his mouth-_

_He moans as he presses his head back against the floor, curling his fingers tighter in Slade’s tank top before finally, roughly pulling it up and off, Slade lifting his arms just long enough to help. Lips find his again and Oliver groans into Slade’s mouth while their hips move, grinding up with a shudder and dragging his blunt nails down Slade’s back-_

“ _Well, that explains why you didn’t want him dead_ ,” Ivo comments.

“ _Weak_ ,” Wintergreen hisses.

Oliver ignores them, forcing his eyes open. It’s easier this time, most of his focus on...elsewhere, and what he’s going to do about it. He was right about it being a bad idea. He shouldn’t have let it happen in the first place, shouldn’t have _made_ it happen. He should’ve let Slade pull away, should’ve let him go, should have _left_ -

He blows out a slow breath, trying to focus.

But he didn’t. And it’s- whatever’s between Slade and him, it’s...old, new, both, and it won’t end well. Nothing in his life ends well, for him or the people involved with him. He should stop it. He should leave.

Ivo scoffs. “ _We both know you never stop anything once you start_ ,” he drolls, pacing off to the side. “ _Sara, Yao Fei, Slade and Shado, me, the League_ ,” he lists off.

“ _Just like The List, son_ ,” Robert adds, a pointed reminder, “ _You put it down for five years, but here you are, hunting down every name on every page. You can’t keep running_.”

Oliver’s mouth twists. 

He’s not running, it’s…

He takes a breath.

He’s killed Slade once, nearly got him killed a second time the other night. Things changed with Slade on the island towards the end, but he shut those feelings off for four years after the Amazo, buried them, thought they were gone, and now- But that’s no excuse for the damage he does to people around him. Yao Fei died for them, Slade died because of him, he nearly got Shado and Sara killed from his lack of control, and his father- Robert died just because Oliver existed at all. He can’t-...Even if he feels _something_ , he can’t start anything, with anyone, and why would he? That’s not why he’s here. Attachments like- what he has with Slade, whatever it is, it’s a dangerous distraction, for both of them, and...selfish. It’s just Oliver Queen’s selfishness all over again, and Oliver Queen’s selfishness gets people killed. He can’t kill Slade again, he won’t.

He closes his eyes firmly, then forces them back open when all he sees is Slade’s face, his mismatched eyes, feels his hands on his jaw, his arm, his hips, dip below his pants to grip his ass, hears his breathy groans and smells the sweat on his skin-

Oliver shudders and pulls in a sharp breath, arousal curling low in his gut. He shakes his head hard and forces his thoughts to focus and his libido to _stop_. He hasn’t touched anyone or been touched by anyone without violence in a long time, even longer for something so...intimate, so the fixation makes sense, but with Slade it’s...different. Slade’s hallucination never touches him, and actually touching him _now_ is-

He sucks in another breath and pushes away from the clock face with a low growl, heading for the door in the floor. He needs to focus on something else.

He pulls his mask on, flips his hood up, and slips out of the building, climbs the closest fire escape to a roof and _runs_. He forces himself to focus on the pound of the balls of his feet on the cement, the jump over an alley, a street, the landings on the other sides. 

He needs to find more weapons, maybe local street gangs or the local Bratva. The police can’t cover them all, and most of the guns are untraceable after their numbers are filed off. Even if they aren’t, it’ll lead back to the gangs or Bratva, not him. They’re not his first choice of weapon, but they’re usable. Knives would be easier. If he’s lucky, some gang or Bratva leader will have an affinity for swords he can use until he gets his back from Shado, which he’s _still_ angry at himself for. He didn’t even _think_ to take it when he _left_.

He leaps across another alley, thoughts inevitably drifting off again as his feet carry him. He only stops when he feels a vibration in his pocket, jerking out of his daze and looking up to find himself-

He stares up at the brick wall lining the Queen mansion

The phone vibrates in his pocket again and he jolts out of his trance, standing there for a minute debating with himself before finally pulling it out and flipping it open. He takes a breath to try and keep his heartbeat steady before tapping the messages open.

‘ _Assassin sent for you’_

 _‘Deadshot_ ’

His brow furrows while his lips press together. The phone vibrates again and he reads the new text:

‘ _ID Unknown. Sniper. No kill misses_ ’

Oliver stares at the message for a long moment, debates sending something back before just snapping the phone shut and shoving it in his pocket. He frowns at the brick wall for a minute longer before turning and walking along the perimeter, keeping an eye and ear out for any guards while he thinks.

A sniper will be difficult to deal with, but ‘Deadshot’ shouldn’t even know where he is, if he’s in the city yet. That gives him time to try and figure out what to do. He should move from the clock tower, find somewhere new to hole up; he’s already been there too long. Maybe the Glades. People don’t ask questions there, don’t even blink at someone covered in blood, and it shouldn’t be too hard to keep people out of his business.

He turns right at the perimeter corner, slowly veering off left from it into the trees.

But who sent the assassin? Maybe a one percenter concerned for their life, or the Triad? It wasn’t the League, they handle their own business. He’s surprised they haven’t come for him already. Whatever Nyssa told Ra’s must be working, for the time being, but he can’t think Ra’s won’t ever come for him. It isn’t something he can prepare for, so he hasn’t, but it’s not something he can ignore either. If Ra’s comes...Slade and Shado will get involved, another reason to cut them off.

Something twinges in his chest at the thought and he ignores it, taking a slow breath. He glances over after a minute at what he can see of the mansion above the stone instead of thinking about it. He slowly passes by his room’s dark windows, eyes lingering on them until he veers further into the start of the forest, slowly rounding to the security parking lot off to the side. He spots a familiar face coming out and pauses to watch Diggle head to his car-

There’s a whistle of sound just before pain explodes in the middle left of his back and Oliver jerks forward with the hit, grunting quietly and rolling forward behind a tree. He presses his back to it and grits his teeth as the pain slowly dulls, staring ahead, sees Diggle stop at the side of his car, driver’s side door open, and look around. Diggle stills as their eyes lock and then Diggle’s running towards him, drawing his gun and staying low. Another bullet hits the tree from behind, left of Oliver’s head and he shakes his head sharply at Diggle, Diggle ducking behind a lawn statue for cover while Oliver digs a knife out of his boot and closes his eyes, waiting, listening. 

There’s a faint bush rustle some yards back, a little to the left, and he whips around the tree against the pain, throwing the knife. He hears a grunt and a clatter and pushes off, running for the statue. Diggle peers around it and grabs his arm when Oliver stumbles, vision swimming, tugging him around behind it just before a shot hits the side of the stone. Oliver grits his teeth and forces Diggle off with a low growled, “ _Cameras,_ ” and Diggle pauses, glancing at him, around the area, then back. There’s none here, but they are watching the parking lot. They’ll have picked up Diggle running for him.

“Can you meet me at the road?” Diggle asks low, nodding his head to Oliver’s left. Oliver looks over at the stretch of statue and tree dotted yard to the ones bordering the front of the property, then back, jerking his head in a sharp nod. Diggle peers around the statue briefly before running back for his car while Oliver throws another knife around it in the direction the bullets came from, hears a faint curse off in the trees. 

He pushes himself up and runs left, throws another knife when he hears a metallic _click_ and hears a pained hiss in response. He stumbles again, lungs constricting, but makes himself keep going, putting on a burst of speed and running for the road, looking over to track Diggle’s car headlights rounding out the property gate and heading for him. He bursts out of the trees lining the road and the car skids to a stop. Diggle throws the passenger door open while Oliver jumps the hood, throwing himself inside and closing the door behind him as the car starts speeding down the road.

His breathing constricts further and he shoves himself up in the seat, turning and forcing himself over it and into the back, landing half across the seats and rolling himself down into the footwell so he can pull his mask off, trying to _breathe_.

“Can’t- Can’t breathe,” he struggles to get out, gripping the front of his hoodie as his chest goes _tight_.

“Hospital?” Diggle asks quickly, darting a look back.

“S-Slade,” Oliver wheezes out, gritting his teeth as his vision goes black around the edges, “Shado.”

“Are you sure?” Diggle asks, pausing when he doesn’t get a reply and quickly trying to look back over the seat, “Oliver? Oliver! _Shit_.” He focuses back on the road, distractedly digging his bluetooth out and slipping it in his ear.

\--

“Guys- _Guys!_ We’ve got incoming!” Felicity lets out, fingers pressed to her bluetooth. Shado looks up from her phone by the cot while Slade’s eyes snap up from where he’s not-talking with Joe in a corner. They both quickly come over while Joe keeps back near the wall, watching. “Oliver’s been hit with something. Diggle’s bringing him in, says he’s unconscious,” Felicity reports, looking up at them both.

Slade’s jaw clenches and he heads for the stairs, running up. Joe stares after him while Shado moves to grab her bag, heading back for the cot and clearing it off. 

“Who’s Oliver?” Joe demands, eyes shifting from Shado, who doesn’t answer, to Felicity, the more likely of the two to give him an _answer_.

Felicity jumps a little, eyes darting over. “A mutual...friend?” she tries, chancing a look back at Shado, but she’s busy rummaging through her bag.

Joe blows out a frustrated breath and frowns back up at the basement door.

Barely ten minutes later, Slade comes crashing back down through it carrying an unconscious Oliver in his arms, Diggle right behind him, eyes darting over to Joe while Shado gestures Slade over. Slade lays Oliver down on the cot and unzips his hoodie, pulling it off and dropping it to the floor before Shado pulls his mask up and off, dropping it aside. She presses her fingers firmly to the side of his clammy neck, counting.

“His pulse is faint and abnormally slow, but there,” she reports after a minute, leaning over to dig a stethoscope out of her bag and slipping it on, pressing the pad to his just as clammy bare chest. 

“You’re a doctor?” Joe asks, brows rising a little.

“I was pre-med,” Shado replies distractedly, holding a hand up for silence while she listens to Oliver’s heartbeat, his lungs. She pulls the stethoscope off after a minute and winds it back up, pushing it back into her bag. “His breathing and heartbeat are all slow, far slower than resting, almost like he’s been put in some kind of…” she trails off, brows furrowing. She shakes her head a little. “I don’t know, but it doesn’t seem to be getting worse.” 

She gestures for Slade to roll Oliver onto his stomach and Slade complies. She quickly pulls another med kit out of her bag and digs out a pair of tweezers, bending over Oliver’s back and digging them into the bullet wound there while Felicity makes a gagging noise behind her. Shado’s eyes catch on the Arabic tattooed down the center of Oliver’s spine and some sort of pointed brand peeking up out of the top of the back of his pants before refocusing.

“Got it,” she sighs after a few moments, pulling the bullet out and holding it up. It’s gold and pointed, slim. Felicity shuffles closer and holds out a clear sandwich bag, Shado staring at it a moment before it clicks and she drops the bullet inside, moving to clean the tweezers off while Felicity seals the bag, looking a little green.

“I’ll take this to a friend in Central City, have it analyzed,” Felicity says tightly, moving back over to the table.

Shado nods and quickly cleans the bullet wound before pressing a bandage over it, gesturing for Slade to roll Oliver back over.

“What do you think?” Slade asks, low and tense, eyes focused down on Oliver while he crosses his arms.

Shado glances over then back down too, letting out a breath. “Honestly, I don’t know. He’s having a reaction to something from the bullet, but we don’t know what it is. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s some sort of poison, based on how he’s reacting. It’s similar to the viper venom from the League but more potent, or higher concentrated.”

“‘League’?” Joe finally speaks up, arms crossed and eyebrows rising a bit. “As in The League of Assassins?” He looks to Slade who clenches his jaw. “ _Father_ ,” Joe says firmly.

“Yes, the League of Assassins,” Slade bites out, fingers curling, “He was one of them.”

“‘Was’?” Joe asks, eyebrows drawing low when Slade doesn’t answer. Joe takes a step closer and pauses when his father shifts a little like he’s putting himself between him and this- Oliver, on the cot. Joe’s eyes dart back down to the man, looking over the scar he can see the edges of in his left side, dirty blonde hair in a loose ponytail spilling out across the black cushions. “So this ‘Oliver’ is the one you owe the debt,” he says slowly, putting the pieces together.

“Yes,” Slade answers after a beat, low and tense, looking over. Joe drags his eyes up and looks back while Felicity drops herself back down into the chair at the table with a sigh.

“This is going to get messy,” she mutters to herself, glancing back anxiously between everyone before turning to her tablet and opening her email, sending one off to Central City. She looks over at the bullet and grimaces, dropping the sandwich bag in her purse with a couple fingers. “More than it already is,” she amends, shuddering a little. “So what happened?” she asks louder, looking over at Diggle.

“He was shot at on the Queen property back by the trees,” Diggle answers, drawing everyone’s eyes over, Joe’s dragging off his father a little slower, “If it wasn’t happening in view of the parking lot, I probably wouldn’t have known. Guy was using a silencer.”

“Deadshot,” Slade says.

“How did you know to look him up?” Shado asks, brows drawn together, “You never said earlier.”

“Moira Queen called and warned me about him,” Slade answers.

“But why? And how would she know that?” Shado asks.

“I knew there was something shifty about that lady,” Felicity says, frowning. She turns back to her tablet, pulling up the information on Deadshot again.

Diggle walks over and bends down to look, frowning. “Guy’s a ghost, is what I’m getting from this,” he says, “We’re not finding him before he finds us.”

“Unless we try going to his hunting grounds,” Slade says low, fingers curling tighter where they can’t see.

Joe’s eyes dart between them all, landing on his father again, frown deepening while he listens.

“You think he’ll still be there?” Diggle asks, straightening and looking over.

“He knew to look there. It’s a sure place to observe,” Slade answers.

“Yeah, I can’t imagine he knows where else Oliver’s been, especially since we don’t, and I’ve been monitoring the security cameras,” Felicity adds, “He’s even more of a ghost than this Deadshot guy.”

Slade watches Oliver for another minute, makes sure his chest keeps rising and falling, as minimal as it does. His eyes are closed and his lips are parted a little. Minus the light layer of sweat on him, he looks like he’s sleeping, but a lot of people do just before they die.

Slade grits his teeth, fists tightening, and moves over to grab his gear, stilling when Shado intercepts him and places a hand on his arm.

“Not tonight,” she says, brown eyes boring into his, “He may wake and we don’t know what state he’ll be in. We may need you here.”

“Deadshot could get away,” Slade says low, almost a growl.

“He’ll be back,” Shado replies, “We don’t know about Oliver.”

Slade’s eyes dart back to him, then to the floor, clenching his jaw. He takes a step back and Shado lets him go, watching him a moment before glancing over at Joe. 

“Besides,” she adds quieter, “There is a conversation you need to have with him.” She nods her chin past his shoulder and Slade takes a breath, half turning to look back.

Joe’s watching them both, arms crossed and eyes scrutinizing like he’s trying to figure something out, or maybe figure everything out. Slade didn’t tell him much of anything before he left, on purpose, but now it’s all out in the open, Joe just can’t read the rest of the pieces yet.

Slade walks over after a minute and Joe slowly uncrosses his arms, holding his stare. “We need to finish our talk,” Slade says.

Joe frowns, glances around at the others in the basement, eyes lingering on Oliver before landing back on his father. “You didn’t say much last time,” he says.

“I will this time,” Slade makes himself say, taking a breath to try and steady the adrenaline still kicking around in his veins, and the anger. It’s always the easiest to rise. Joe studies him a moment before nodding slowly, reaching up and sliding his duffel off, lowering it to the floor. Slade takes another breath and nods to the basement door, Joe turning and heading up the stairs, glancing back to make sure he’s following.

Slade takes one last look at Oliver before dragging his eyes to Shado, tilting his head towards Oliver. She nods back and he digs his phone out, tossing it to her. She catches it, then walks over and grabs the extra chair, carrying it over to take a seat next to the cot while Slade jogs up the stairs after his son.

\--

Thea sends the text and then stares at the flip phone, curled up in the corner of her window seat. She tilts her head to rest it against the cool glass, worrying her lower lip while she tries to keep her breathing steady. It feels like there’s a scream building in her chest, has been building for the past _week_ , and she’s not sure how much longer she can keep it from-

She jumps when the phone vibrates in her hand and darts her eyes down, quickly opening the message.

‘ _Oliver shot. Sleeping now. Will know more in morning_ ’

She sucks in a breath, covering her mouth with a hand. She reads the words again, and again, then one more time before tapping out, fingers shaky:

‘ _Can I see him?_ ’

She holds her breath, knows she probably won’t get anything, not a meeting time, or a promise, or even a picture, but she can’t keep- she can’t keep holding her breath day in and day out. It feels like she’s drowning. Sometimes she manages to drag her head above the water, but most of the time she’s struggling, kicking and flailing just to try and reach the surface again. It’s getting harder to remember the last time she really felt _okay_. She’s lying to Laurel, her mother is apparently lying to her. How else would she know about an _assassin_ going after Ollie? It doesn’t make _sense_. She knew about Ollie before, for _weeks_ before Thea found out. What else is she hiding?

And then there’s _Ollie_ , who’s scarred and killing people and- and so _different_ from the brother she knew, she wonders if any part of him is even still _in_ there.

She jumps again when the phone vibrates, attention snapping back to the screen- 

Her breath catches, eyes quickly taking in the picture.

It’s just his face, his head tilted to the side and bangs- bangs so long, same with what she can see of the rest of his hair. She can’t see the scar from this angle, and if his hair were shorter it’d- He’d look like he was just sleeping, just taking a nap in his room or something, or passed out on the couch in the living room from staying out too long. He’d just-

The picture blurs and she squeezes her eyes shut as she wipes at them, sucking in a stuttery breath before letting it out in a rush, pulling her knees up and burying her face in them. She turns her head and looks at the picture again, more tears welling and spilling over.

 _He’s alive_ , she thinks, sobbing, chest one big, giant, aching bruise, _Ollie’s alive_.

She buries her face in her knees to try and stifle her sobs, but can’t help looking at the photo again and again, barely managing to type and send off a:

‘ _Thank you_ ’

\--

Joe stares at his father after the whole...explanation, at his blind right eye, the eye that that _Oliver_ guy apparently-

“So he was with you on the island,” he says slowly, “Shado as well.” His father nods, arms crossed and looking both uncomfortable and wary. Joe’s not sure how to feel about that. “And he took your eye-”

“He wasn’t in his right head,” his father cuts in.

“Because he has something called ‘mirakuru’ in him, which you have too,” Joe says. His father nods again and Joe stares another minute before slowly frowning. “And the agency doesn’t know any of this.”

“No,” Slade answers firmly, left eye darkening, “I don’t want them to.”

It’s not hard to figure out why. He and his father are both tools for their country. Still-

“And Uncle Billy?” he asks quieter, “He really-...”

Slade’s expression hardens just like it had when he’d briefly explained, nothing detailed, like the rest of it, but enough. Joe swallows, eyes dropping to the floor.

“This is hard to believe,” he says after a moment, crossing his arms. He looks back up. “A _super soldier serum_ , you _dying_ , Uncle Billy betraying you, some- _guy_ you knew while you were stranded becoming an assassin for the League of Assassins while the others you thought died in some ship explosion apparently didn’t?” He takes a breath, shaking his head.

His father looks around, reaching over and grabbing a nearby steel bar and- _bending_ it into an oval. Joe stares, widened eyes slowly looking between his father’s blunt stare and the twisted metal.

He swallows. “...Okay,” he breathes, taking a slow breath, “Okay.” His father untwists and drops the metal to the factory floor like it’s made of clay and Joe’s eyes follow it before dragging back up. That, at least, is something he- could see, and can try to deal with later. The agency doesn’t have to know yet, if ever, but that still leaves _everything else_. “So this Oliver takes your eye, and you feel indebted to him for thinking you killed him with the scar on his neck.”

His father gives a short, tight nod and Joe takes another breath, searching the floor again for a moment before looking back up.

“But he’s alive,” he says, his father watching him, “You’ve made sure he is, and that his family is safe, so...why are you still here?” His father looks away, brows lowering, and Joe matches him frown for frown. “Father, it’s been over a _month_. You’ve come to this city, done what you set out to do. _Why_ are you still here? When are you- _Are_ you coming home?”

Slade’s jaw clenches and he takes a breath, relaxing his shoulders as much as he can. “I don’t know,” he answers, looking back.

Joe stares at him for a long moment before blowing out a rough breath, shifting in place as he looks off towards the windows, at the sky turning from black to grey with the early morning. “I know you feel you owe a debt,” he says after a minute, looking back, “But father, you have your _own life_. You can’t just _stay_ here indefinitely trying to repay something that was, by the sounds of it, an accident, at least on your part. What about the agency? What about-” He stops, pressing his lips flat together and darting his eyes away when his father’s gaze softens some.

They’re quiet for a minute, and Joe tries counting his breaths to calm himself back down.

“I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here,” Slade says, drawing Joe’s eyes back, “There’s more going on than when I first got here. I can’t leave yet.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Joe asks quietly, watching him, “What’s going on with- _Oliver_ isn’t your business. It goes past your debt. Do you even _want_ to come home?”

Slade hesitates, then blows out a breath, looking off towards the windows. “I don’t know,” he answers quietly. Joe’s heart twists and he makes himself keep quiet, trying to give his father the space to talk. It’s hard enough dragging words out of him, Joe doesn’t want to make him stop without getting a real answer. “It still feels like I’m on the island. Nothing’s quite home, not even what used to be,” Slade continues after a minute, glancing back, “The only things that feel remotely like it are you, Shado, and Oliver. I don’t know what that means, or what to do with it, but it is what it is.”

Joe swallows, searching his eyes, smokey-white and dark brown alike, then drops his own to the floor, then over to the basement door, brow furrowing. “So you’re going to stay here,” he says more than asks.

Slade’s expression tightens and Joe takes a slow breath, looking back up at him after a minute, eyes hard.

“I can’t keep waiting for you to come home,” Joe grits out.

“Joe-” Slade starts, taking a step forward.

“ _No_ ,” Joe cuts him off, and Slade stops, “You need to decide what you’re going to do. If you’re going to stay here, or if you’re going to come home. But you need to do it by the end of the rest of your three weeks, because I’m not waiting another five years.” His father straightens, jaw clenching, and Joe makes himself hold his stare.

He grew up fast, had to when his parents split, and especially after his father went missing, but- He can’t keep waiting, hoping, _doing this_ , especially when he’s the only one of them who seems to be _trying_.

“I understand,” Slade says after a minute, voice tight, and Joe searches his face to try and make sure he really does.

The basement door opens after a minute and both their eyes dart over when Shado calls, “ _Slade_.”

His father takes a step towards the door before stopping and looking back at him. Joe turns and Slade moves, Joe following. They take the stairs back down, looking over to see Oliver slowly trying to sit up regardless of Shado’s chastising in Mandarin. She reaches for Oliver’s shoulder and he grips her wrist, expression distracted and breathing a little ragged. She hisses a pained sound and then Slade is there, twisting Oliver’s wrist so he lets go and shoving him back into the cot with a huff of air forced out of Oliver’s lungs.

“ _Focus_ ,” Slade growls, and Oliver’s green eyes stare up at him, tense, doesn’t seem to recognize him for a minute before it slowly starts filtering back in.

“Slade...?” Oliver breathes in raggedly, lets it out in a rush like he’d been holding it. Oliver’s eyes close and Slade takes a breath, easing up on his grip.

“You’re okay, kid,” Slade says quietly, gripping his shoulder a little tighter to try and ground him, “You were probably poisoned.”

“I was,” Oliver breathes, getting his eyes back open, “The sniper-” He stills and then tries to sit up again, grunting when Slade forces him back down. “ _Thea_ -” Oliver starts, angry eyes jumping up.

“Is fine,” Shado replies, letting go of her wrist to hold up Slade’s phone. Oliver stills, eyes darting over. “I just texted her not too long ago when she asked how you were.”

“How I- How did she know?” Oliver asks, staring at her. He hasn’t told Thea anything. She shouldn’t know _anything_.

“Your mother warned me about the sniper,” Slade answers slowly, Oliver’s eyes dragging back, staring up at him incomphrendingly.

“How would she-...” he trails off, head full of static.

“We don’t know,” Felicity replies before stifling a yawn, Oliver’s eyes darting over again, “But we’ll look into it.” Felicity slips her feet back into her heels and stands, grabbing her bag and tablet and looking between Diggle and Shado. “Who’s my ride?”

“I am,” Shado answers, almost at the same time Diggle responds, “I have work.”

“I’ll meet you out at the car, now that he’s not all- you know,” Felicity says, flapping a hand in Oliver’s general direction before shuffling tiredly up the stairs.

Shado looks to Oliver again, moving closer to check his temperature and pulse before blowing out a breath. “I’m not a doctor, Oliver,” she says, and he blinks up at her for a moment before his expression sobers.

“I didn’t-...know who else to-...” he trails off quietly, averting his eyes while he presses his lips hard together, brows lowered, looking like he regrets saying anything at all.

Shado smiles slowly, a little, soft and warm, and rests a hand on his shoulder, drawing his eyes back. “Get some more rest,” she says gently before heading for the stairs, taking them up, “Text us if you need anything or you start feeling more symptoms.”

Oliver watches her go before his eyes shift to Slade, breath catching at how close he is, then over his shoulder-

He stills, then tries to sit up again, but Slade pushes him back down for the third time, easier than he should be able to. Oliver growls, glaring up at him. “Who is-?”

“Joe,” Slade answers, cutting him off, and Oliver stills again, staring up at him.

“Your-...” he trails off, eyes darting back to Joe, who’s still watching them with his arms crossed. Oliver takes in his darker skin, his blue eyes and pushed back black hair, a few bangs hanging in his face. He’s lither than Slade by miles, a little taller, but he’s also younger, maybe twenty. In a few years, they’ll probably look more alike. 

Slade finally lets up with a small, firm warning nudge and straightens, and Oliver’s eyes snap back up, skin like brands where Slade’s hands were. He ignores it. They stare at one another for a long minute before Joe breaks the silence.

“I need to find a hotel,” he says.

“You can use mine,” Slade returns, slowly dragging his eyes up from Oliver’s. Joe nods after a moment and Slade heads for the stairs after one last warning look at Oliver, taking them up.

Oliver’s eyes follow him before lowering back to Joe, who lingers, the two of them watching each other.

“You’re keeping my father here,” Joe says quietly.

Oliver slowly sits up and studies him, his stiff shoulders and defensive stance. Joe bends down to grab his duffel and starts up the stairs, pausing when Oliver speaks up, “I’ve never made Slade do anything.”

Joe looks over at him again, brows lowered as he studies him right back, eyes dropping to what he can see of the scars on Oliver’s left side, his weird, green eyes. “Somehow, I doubt that,” Joe says low, heading up out of the basement after another moment and slamming the door behind him.

Oliver’s jaw clenches as he frowns, staring up towards the door, then he makes himself take a ragged breath and lays back down. He stares up at the shadows covering the high ceiling while listening to their footsteps retreat out of the factory and the factory door slide shut. There’s the sound of a car engine starting a minute later, and then it slowly fades away, off the property and down the road, leaving him in silence. 

He closes his eyes and lets it swallow him whole.


	22. We fight every night for something, when the sun sets we’re both the same, half in the shadows half burned in flames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for deeeeeeeeeath
> 
> Music I had on repeat; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pe5tCQtPJ-I

Laurel turns the car off, pulling the key out of the ignition and looking over. “I know I keep asking, but are you sure you’re okay?”

Thea snaps out of her thoughts, eyes darting over to stare at Laurel for a moment like a deer in headlights before shaking her head a little, snapping out of it again. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” she says quickly, trying to smile, “Just had a long night. My mom and I kind of got into a fight.” It’s not what she’s focused on, but it’s not exactly a lie either, which alleviates a drop of the ocean of guilt in her chest.

Laurel gives her a sympathetic look and then huffs a breath, looking down at her steering wheel. “I know what that’s like. Before my mom left we-...well, we didn’t always see eye to eye.” She looks back over and gives Thea a small smile

Thea sits up a little more in the passenger seat. “When’s the last time you saw her?”

“Four years and some change,” Laurel replies with a pinched smile, “She left not too long after Sara-...” she trails off.

Thea swallows, the guilt drowning her all over again. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. 

Laurel smiles over at her again, sad and resigned. “It’s alright,” she replies, taking a breath, “I think you and your mom will be fine, just...try talking to her.”

Thea nods and Laurel undoes her seatbelt, prompting Thea to do the same. She pushes the passenger door open and steps out, looking across the street at the police station before closing the door and opening the back to help Laurel grab the file boxes. She grunts a little under the weight, shifting the box in her arms for a better grip before shuffling back and nudging the door shut with her hip. She waits on the sidewalk for Laurel and then both of them head up to the crosswalk, waiting their turn.

“You got that?” Laurel asks, shifting her own box.

“As long as we get inside in under five minutes,” Thea grunts, hears Laurel huff a laugh from her left.

They quickly get across the street when the light changes, Laurel thanking the officer that holds the police station door open for them as they carefully make their way up the steps and inside. Laurel makes a beeline for the front desk with Thea trying not to trip over her feet after her, setting the heavy box on the desk with a huge, relieved sigh.

“We’re from C.N.R.I. here to see Detective Lance,” Laurel says to the woman behind the desk. The woman nods, tapping at her keyboard before directing them around to the back. Thea takes a breath and heaves her box up again, shuffling after Laurel down the hall and into the bullpen. Laurel stops at a desk two back and sets her box down on the side of it, gesturing for Thea to do the same before looking around. 

Detective Lance comes out of the hall at the back left after a few minutes, followed by his partner Lucas guiding a boy forward in a red hoodie who can’t be much older than Thea, hands cuffed behind his back. Laurel and Thea both watch, Lance catching sight of them. He gestures Lucas to the right before heading over, Lucas nudging the boy down in a chair next to a desk a couple back from the one they’re at.

“Hey, dad,” Laurel says, glancing at the boy in the hoodie and back, “What’s going on?”

“Just some kid getting in over his head,” Lance replies. 

Laurel straightens, mouth pinching. “The vigilante?” she asks. Thea’s gaze snaps back.

“Yeah,” Lance sighs, “Idolizes the ‘Ghost’, or something. Said he saved his life.” They all look over. The boy in the hoodie looks around the room before his eyes land on them, brows lowered and mouth turned down a little at the side like he ate something bad. “Anyway,” Lance continues, looking back, “What brings you two here?”

“Dropping off some files,” Laurel answers, “But I did want to talk to you about the Evan’s case, if you’ve got a minute?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. This way,” Lance replies, jerking a thumb towards the back hall.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Laurel says to Thea with a smile before following her father.

Thea nods, eyes drifting back to the boy. Lance’s partner jots something down with another look at him before getting up and heading down the right hall, and Thea worries her lower lip, glancing around. All of the officers are occupied, a few of them heading for the front of the station out of the bullpen, leaving just a few more all busy on their computers and with paperwork. Her eyes dart back to the boy and she takes a breath, shoving her hands in her pockets as she slowly wanders over.

“So…” she says, keeping her voice lowered. His blue eyes snap up to her. They’re light, lighter than her brother’s, even. “Vigilante saved you?”

“Cops gossip?” he asks sarcastically back. She raises a brow and he huffs, looking off to the side. “Yeah, he did.”

“And now you’re...what, trying to _be_ him?” she asks.

His eyes snap back up as his brows lower, sitting up straighter in the chair. “I live in the _Glades_ ,” he says snidely, keeping his own voice down after a quick look around, eyes focusing back on her, “Not a lot of cops come up that far. When’s the last time you even _heard_ sirens going up there? Or are you too busy shopping for purses and dresses, _Queen_.”

Thea’s lips flatten and he huffs again, relaxing back into the chair like he’s not handcuffed in a police station.

She debates with herself for a few seconds, a pressure building in her chest before she says, quieter, “He saved me too. Not...the Ghost,” she corrects when his gaze focuses intently on her, “The other one. ‘Wraith’, or whatever they’re calling him.” She frowns a little over at the edge of the desk, remembering the look on Ollie’s face, his green eyes. She curls her fingers around the phone in her pocket, looking back. “Some guys, up near the Glades,” she explains vaguely.

The boy in the hoodie frowns, raising an eyebrow. “What were _you_ doing up in the Glades?”

“Maybe something similar to what you’re doing,” she snips back.

He frowns a little more and then looks her up and down, analyzing. He huffs a breath, dropping back in the chair again, then raises his brow, smirking a little. “You? Trying to find a vigilante?”

She kicks at his shin and he jumps with a hissed, “ _Ow_ ,” glaring down at her heels and then up at her. She glares back and they hold each other’s stare for a minute before he huffs again, lips twitching up.

She debates with herself again, worrying her lower lip while she thinks. 

Her mother’s lying to her, she can’t find Ollie on her own, or the Ghost- Wilson, who’s obviously in contact with her brother if the news is anything to go by, and he’s refusing to tell her much of anything _or_ let her see her brother. She has the sneaking suspicion the one who sent her the photo of Ollie last night was the woman who answered Wilson’s phone before, and _this_ guy, he lives _in_ the Glades, so maybe he can see things, _find_ things she can’t.

“You and I should talk,” she says slowly after a minute, making a decision. His eyebrows rise a bit. “My house, tonight?”

“Don’t you think I’d look a little suspicious?” he asks wryly, spreading his legs in the chair to show off his dirty, ragged jeans and beat up tennis shoes.

“Less suspicious than _me_ in the _Glades_ ,” she returns.

He frowns a little at that and then shrugs, conceding. “Fine. When?”

“Eight?” she asks. He nods and she nods back. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Roy Harper,” he answers after a moment, watching her.

She catches the sound of Laurel and Lance’s voices coming back down the hall and quickly moves back over to Lance’s desk, glancing over at the boy- Roy, one more time. He glances back, one side of his lips turning up a little.

She frowns, rolling her eyes, and his smile goes a little more real before he wipes it off his face as Detective Hilton comes back too, taking a seat at his desk. Thea focuses on Laurel and Lance, blinking a little when she realizes that for the first time in weeks, she feels a little less alone.

\-----

Felicity taps a few more keys before spinning in her swivel chair to her new laptop on the other side of her desk, pulling up the search she’s been running for the past few hours. It’s so much nicer having an actual chair with _cushions_. Maybe she can get one for the basement, unless they’re moving locations. Too many people know about their current one, but maybe if they move to another- Well. Lights, plant, comfortable chair, _action_.

 _If Wilson sticks around that long_ , she thinks, worrying the end of her pen while her eyes scan over the search results that have popped up so far. It seems ‘Deadshot’ has killed all over: Chicago, Markovia, Corto Maltese. _Not ever going **there** for vacation_ , she thinks, not that she could afford it. She focuses when another result pops up, reading over the first name of the victim and then freezing on the last, staring.

‘ _Andy Diggle_ ’

“What,” she says, trying to process what she’s seeing. She quickly taps the file open, scanning down the page. “ _What_.”

\-----

“Mr. Diggle,” Moira Queen’s voice stops him where he’s just leaving Thea Queen’s closed bedroom door from checking in with her.

“Ma’am?” he asks, turning around and resting his hands at his lower back.

“Mr. Anderson picked up something strange on the security feed from last night and I wanted to bring it up with you face to face,” Moira says, coming to a stop a respectful distance in front of him. “You ran out of the parking lot towards the trees, which, granted, doesn’t sound too strange when I say it, but it is when I consider the fact that you’re my daughter’s bodyguard. Is there a threat to her or this family that I should know about?” she asks, expression searching, expectant, and suddenly Oliver’s warning about the cameras makes him a lot more grateful for Oliver being more aware of them in the moment than he was.

“Nothing, Ma’am,” Diggle answers, putting on a polite smile, “I thought I heard something out in the trees, but when I looked, I didn’t find anything. Must’ve been an animal just moving around in the bushes.”

“We are on the edge of the forest,” Moira agrees, crossing her arms in that way she does where she simultaneously isn’t crossing them at all, but makes you feel like you’re being stared at by a disapproving mother all the same. “I appreciate your diligence,” she continues, “Please continue to be so. My daughter’s been through a lot, and I don’t want her going through anything else that might cause her any harm,” she finishes firmly.

“Ma’am,” he returns with a nod. She watches him with that probing stare another moment before turning and heading back down the hall, arms lowering back to her sides. Diggle takes a slow breath and then twitches a little when his phone vibrates in his pocket, taking another breath and settling his heartbeat.

 _A little too close for comfort_ , he thinks, digging his phone out and checking the number. He frowns a little when he doesn’t recognize it but answers anyway, since it could be anyone from the...they’re not quite a team, but something in that general vicinity. “Diggle,” he says.

“ _I found something you need to know about_ ,” Felicity’s voice replies, sounding firm and anxious. Diggle frowns a little but heads down the hallway for the stairs. It’s about time for him to clock out anyway, and Thea Queen said she’s staying in for the night. “ _It’s...about your brother, Andy_ ,” Felicity continues and Diggle freezes at the top of the stairs, staring unseeingly ahead.

“What about him?” he asks slowly, taking a measured breath.

“ _Come to the lair and I’ll tell you there_ ,” she replies, “ _I don’t want you driving or around others that aren’t in our group when you hear it_.”

Diggle hangs up after she does and searches the wood paneling on the walls for a moment before pressing his lips together and heading down the stairs, straight for the closest door and out to the parking lot.

He drives, manages to focus on the streets and lights and signs on the way, keeping the questions at bay at the edge of his thoughts. He gets out and pulls the factory gate open, drives past it, then gets out again to close it before driving the rest of the way up. He parks in front of the factory’s sliding door next to the two cars already there, slowly turning his off and flicking the headlights off with it before pulling the key out of the ignition and- stopping, staring straight ahead. He takes a slow breath for the hundredth time since Felicity called him to try and keep his heartbeat steady, his breathing even, and doesn’t think, doesn’t focus on what she said to him over the phone. He gets his car door open and steps out, heading into the factory. 

He takes the steps down into the basement and sees the others already gathered, Wilson already dressed in his gear. All their eyes turn to him, and he barely notices Oliver’s gone before focusing on Felicity. He walks over and comes to a stop a few feet away, taking one more breath to steel himself before asking, “What about Andy?”

“I...was doing some digging,” Felicity starts slowly, standing next to the table and a laptop sitting on top of it, screen dark, “A broader search for anything involving Deadshot. My tablet isn’t really built for that kind of algorithm so I bought a laptop specifically for our...nightly activities.” She gestures to the laptop on the table before continuing. “And...your brother, he came up in the search results. They never caught the killer, right?”

Diggle pulls in another breath, adrenaline making his heart race, before asking, “What are you saying?” 

Felicity watches him another moment before turning and swiping her finger across the laptop mousepad, waking the screen up. Diggle slowly walks over, bending down to look.

“Traces of Curare were found in his autopsy,” Felicity says quietly, "The same poison my friends in Central City found on Deadshot's bullet." She watches Diggle stare at the the screen for another minute, eyes shifting as he takes in the information once, twice, three times. He slowly straightens up after a minute and her eyes follow him, then flick over to Wilson.

“Are you going out to get him?” Diggle finally asks, low and quiet.

“Yes,” Wilson answers, watching him.

Diggle takes a breath, fingers curled into tight fists. “I need you to kill this bastard,” he grits out.

“I will,” Wilson replies, deadly calm.

Diggle takes another breath and nods, standing there staring at the laptop screen for another minute before turning and heading back up the stairs, closing the basement door behind him.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Felicity asks after a moment, worried eyes dropping to Shado and Wilson.

“It’s not easy living with the person who killed your loved one still breathing,” Shado says quietly, knowingly, eyes on the door. They drop down to Wilson, then the floor. She turns and crouches down to open her bag.

“Who’s ‘Andy’?” Joe asks after a moment, looking to his father.

“Dig’s younger brother,” Felicity answers, drawing his gaze back, “He was killed a few years ago.”

Joe’s lips flatten a little and then his eyes snap back to his father when Wilson walks over and digs his black mask out of his bag. “Do you need backup?” Joe asks.

“No,” Wilson answers, slipping his bluetooth in before pulling his mask down over his head, checking his swords. He heads for the stairs and disappears up out the door, Joe’s eyes following him.

\-----

Roy stares wide eyed up at the Queen mansion towering over him like some great, grey, looming beast. He takes a breath and scoffs at himself before jogging up to the front doors (door _s. Plural_ ) and raises his fist, staring between the two doors a moment before finally knocking on the right one and shoving his hands in his pockets. A huge guy in a suit answers it a few seconds later and Roy stares up again.

“Uh,” he says, “I’m here to see Thea Queen?”

The guard stares at him for a long minute and Roy swallows a little, then perks up when he spots her coming down around the stairs behind the guard.

“It’s okay. He’s with me,” she says, and the guard slowly steps aside. Roy slips in past him, keeping an eye on the guard and trying not to twitch out of his skin when the door shuts behind him. “This way,” Thea says, gesturing as she darts quick back up the stairs. Roy glances around as he follows, staring at the wood paneling, the paintings that have _got_ to be real. He could probably sell one and be set for life.

“This place is really...huge,” he comments. Thea barely glances over her shoulder as she leads the way down the hall, past two doors and into the third, holding it open for him. He steps inside and pushes his hood back as he looks around, staring at all the...space. “Your room is as big as my living room and kitchen combined,” he says flatly.

She rolls her eyes at him and makes a beeline for her- _couch_. He shakes his head and follows, taking a seat. They sit in awkward quiet for a minute before Roy breaks it:

“So. You’re trying to find the vigilante,” he says.

“Something like that,” she replies, eyes jumping back to him where she was staring off at the windows. 

They study each other for a minute before Roy says, “So...you want help. Tracking him down.”

Thea mutters something under her breath he doesn’t catch before blowing out a sigh, sending her dark bangs up. She stares down at the carpet for a long minute, and he starts picking up some kind of tension, not sure what it is or why it’s there, just that it’s making the air thicker.

“Queen?” he tries. She keeps staring at the carpet and he leans closer. “ _Thea_.”

She jumps as her eyes snap up and sucks in a breath, blowing it back out again. “I-…” she trails off, looking away for a minute then back, taking another breath, “I know him.”

Roy stares, then stares some more. “Come again?”

Thea leans closer, glancing towards her bedroom door before repeating, voice hushed, “I _know_ him. The vigilante. Ghost.”

Roy stares at her for a long moment before snorting loudly and getting to his feet, heading for the door. “Trying to pull my chain. Should’ve seen it coming. You that bored up here in your _palace?_ ” he asks, walking backwards before turning around. She rushes in front of him and blocks the door and he stops, raising his eyebrows, unimpressed.

“I’m telling the truth,” she says firmly, staring hard at him. He frowns a little, searching her face. “I know the other one, too, but I’m not telling you who he is.”

He frowns further, brows drawing together. It doesn’t look like she’s lying, doesn’t _sound_ like she’s lying either. “So why bring me all the way out here and tell me this?”

“Because-...” she trails off again, then blurts out, shoulders dropping, “I feel like I’m _drowning_. I work with a lawyer, a friend, and her father is one of the cops hunting the vigilantes. I have to watch the news and hear my friend talk about them getting captured, or shot at, and I can’t- I can’t turn to _anyone_.” Not even her mom, anymore, not if her mother’s lying to her. “I guess I just- I need someone to help me find them who doesn’t want to hunt them down or kill them, or lie to me.”

He watches her a moment, processing all that before asking, “How do you know I won’t lie to you?”

“Because why would you?” she asks, and he pauses, “You’re after the vigilantes because they _inspire_ you, right? Not because you want to get them killed. Lying to me to get to them doesn’t make sense when I’m willingly helping you.”

“But you’re not, are you?” he asks, frowning again, “Yeah, you’re trying to find them even though you already know who they are, but you’re also protecting them. How do I know you’ll actually help me?”

Thea studies him for a long minute, worrying the inside of her cheek. “I’ll help you find Ghost,” she settles on, “And only him. But I don’t know if you should.”

“And why’s that? ‘Because he might kill me’?” Roy asks dryly, raising a brow, “The cop at the station said that too. But like I told him, he’s only going after rich douchebags and gang leaders, muggers, and rapists. I’m not any of those, and _I_ don’t know who he is. He has no reason to kill me.”

“He might if you try following him around,” she replies lower.

“I don’t want to get in his way,” Roy says, “I just want-” He pauses, looking off towards the wall. He takes a breath, then looks back, continuing quieter, “He saved my life. I ran into him and the other one when Ghost was shot, helped them get patched up. I thought that was good enough, that I’d repaid my debt, but it’s...it’s more than that. The Glades are a mess, not even the cops are doing anything, and if they’re not going to help, it has to be the vigilantes. I just want-...I don’t know. I doubt he’ll teach me anything, and I’ll do it alone if I have to, but I just need to talk to him for a minute.”

Thea watches him, brows drawn together as she listens. She takes a breath and closes her eyes, rolling her shoulders out as she comes to a decision. “We’re both probably going to regret this,” she sighs, looking back at him, “But I’ll tell him you’re looking for him, try to schedule a meet up so you don’t accidentally get skewered trying to chase him around the city.”

Roy huffs at that, but his heartbeat picks up. “Really? You’d do that?” he asks, narrowing his eyes a little.

Thea gives him a small smirk, raising an eyebrow back. “I think you’re crazy, going out there and doing anything like that, but…” She shakes her head a little, shrugging. It’d be too cheesy and personal to say ‘your words moved me’, and really, she does need the help. Maybe Roy can help her get to Wilson, and in turn, her brother.

Roy slowly smiles and she finds herself smiling back. 

She offers her hand out. “Deal?” she asks. 

He takes it and they shake on it. “Deal,” he returns.

\-----

Slade slows as he comes up on the Queen property, slowly scanning the area. He can hear the guards patrolling beyond the wall, but nothing from the forest off to the left. His fingers curl a little and he makes his way over that way, keeping his steps quiet.

“I’m here,” he whispers.

“ _Diggle said he was off towards the parking lot area last time, couldn’t pinpoint where_ ,” Felicity says in his ear, “ _I’m trying to bounce a signal off your bluetooth to locate any nearby devices, but it’s difficult with the minimal range_.”

Slade focuses his hearing after she goes quiet, picks up birds, some small critters running around as he slowly heads deeper into the forest, but nothing human. He keeps moving as he curves around towards the parking lot, slowly scanning the area again-

There’s a whistle and he spins left behind a tree, a bullet hitting the wood behind him. He draws his sword, hand hovering over his gun briefly before discarding the idea. He’s not using a silencer like the sniper, it’ll just draw more attention.

“ _‘Ghost’ right?_ ” a male voice calls, just loud enough for him to hear. There’s the faint, familiar metallic shift and _click_ of a shell discharge. “ _I admire your work! I suppose you’re here about your buddy?_ ” A couple more metal clicks. Loading another bullet into the chamber. _“I imagine he’s six feet under by now. Nothing personal, but you’ve both got bounties on your heads, two for him. The Triad reeeally didn’t like that stunt he pulled the other night._ ”

Slade grits his teeth, tightening his grip around his sword. He takes a breath and forces himself to focus, listening. If all of Deadshot’s bullets are laced with Curare, he gets hit and it’s all over. He needs to take out the sniper without getting hit, or before he can fire after the next shot.

“Can you pinpoint his location?” Slade whispers.

“ _Trying_ ,” Felicity replies back, voice tight with tension and frustration, “ _I’m trying to boost the signal but it’s just not big enough_.”

Slade takes a breath, closing his eyes to center himself, then opens them and _moves_ , running right for another tree. A bullet grazes his shoulder pad and he locks onto the location it came from, darting to one more tree before putting on speed. He hears another round chamber and throws his sword, hears a pained shout and closes in until he finds a man behind some bushes, rifle on the ground and a hand trying to rip the sword out of his shoulder. Deadshot raises a gun at him almost point blank and Slade shoves himself hard to the left, but the gun follows-

Someone bursts through the bushes from Deadshot’s left and Slade gets a glimpse of dark red as the person hits Deadshot in the back of the head with a branch and a low shout. Deadshot drops forward and hits the ground with a grunt, gun dropping. Slade stares a moment, watching to make sure he’s out before looking up to the person in red- 

He stills.

It’s a _kid_ , in a hoodie and jeans and tennis shoes, breathing a little hard. He doesn’t look much older than Oliver’s sister. 

The boy looks up and gestures towards Deadshot with the branch. “Who’s this guy?”

Slade frowns, slowly approaching. He bends down to rip his sword out of Deadshot’s shoulder and stabs it through his back between his lungs, twisting sharply. Deadshot lets out a quiet, gurgling breath and Slade yanks his sword out, raising it to the boy.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t do the same to you,” he says low.

The boy jerks his hands up, branch and all, and blinks, eyes wide. “Because I just saved you?”

“ _Are you following me?_ ” Slade growls.

“No! No,” the boy answers quickly, “I was here meeting Thea Queen.” Slade takes a menacing step forward and the boy flinches but doesn’t step back, holding his ground and swallowing as Slade raises his bloody sword point to the boy’s throat.

“Why were you seeing Thea Queen?” he demands low.

“To- God, this might get me killed,” the boy rambles, eyes darting up from the sword to him, “Because she was going to help me find you.”

Slade pauses, frowning behind his mask. “ _Why,_ ” he growls next.

“You saved me,” the boy answers quick, “A few weeks ago. You probably don’t remember. I was trying to stop these guys from robbing a vet clinic in the Glades, the same one that other guy took you to when you got shot, and there was a couple too many. One got me when I wasn’t looking and they were going to kill me and the old woman running the vet clinic. You killed them first.”

The boy holds his stare while Slade thinks, frowning a little in vague recollection. It does sound familiar, though he doesn’t remember where Oliver took him when he got shot, just that it hurt like a bitch. He focuses back on the boy. “Why are you following me.”

“Because-” the boy blows out a breath, swallowing, “I just- I saw what you did, and I wanted to- ask for advice.”

“ _Advice?_ ” Slade asks low and incredulous, raising a brow behind his mask.

“The cops don’t come to the Glades,” the boy says, steel in his voice and eyes as his brows lower, “Not really. We’re on our own. I know you don’t go there often either, but you _do_ go there, and it’s helped a little. I’ve been trying to- I don’t know, keep that going, because the people there are still people, and they still need help, and if the cops aren’t going to do it, it’s going to be people like- you, and me, who try to help anyway even when the cops arrest us instead of the people who are the real problem.”

Slade frowns. They watch each other for a long minute, the boy not backing down even with a sword to his throat, and Slade lowers it. The boy takes a breath while Slade flicks the blood off into the bushes and sheathes it, then turns around and starts heading back for the city.

“Wait- Uh, what about- this guy?” the boy asks haltingly.

Slade stops and looks back over his shoulder. “Someone will find him if the animals don’t,” he answers, turning back around. He stops again when the boy speaks up one more time:

“Any advice?”

Slade lets out a breath, looking back over his shoulder again and studying the boy. He’s thin, and short, nimble looking.

“ _Maybe you should help him_ ,” Felicity says in his ear.

Slade frowns, growling low under his breath and whispering, “I’m not a vigilante.”

“ _If he’s going to keep doing it anyway, why not help him at least learn to survive? He’s like Thea in that way, isn’t he? Both are going to keep doing something you don’t like until it gets them in trouble or killed, but maybe we can keep that from happening, to **both** of them. And like you said, since you’re only here until you’re done dealing with Oliver, maybe Dig and I can help him after you- after you leave,_ ” she finishes quieter.

Slade studies the boy again, thinking it over. Eventually, he sighs, long and put upon. “A rooftop near the Queen Steel factory tomorrow night,” he growls, and the boy snaps to attention, “Be there by midnight.”

“Which one?” the boy asks quickly, adding when Slade just glares at him, “...Right. Okay. Any.”

Slade turns back towards the city and starts walking. “He’s your responsibility,” he mutters.

“ _But for now, he’s **your** pupil_ ,” Felicity replies, light and pleased.

Slade growls again and digs into his pocket for his phone, checking the text messages even though he knows there’s nothing new. When they got to the basement earlier, Oliver had already left. Slade hasn’t tried asking Felicity to track him down yet, more out of trying to give him space and respect than anything else, but this time-

“Can you trace the phone I gave Oliver?” he asks quietly.

“ _Yep_ ,” she replies. His phone vibrates a minute later. “ _Sent the location to your phone_.”

He checks the message and pulls open the map, studying it.

\--

“Deadshot’s-...dead,” Felicity announces, making a face at the wording. She looks over at Diggle where he’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed. His eyes close firmly and he gives a tight nod, uncrossing his arms and pushing up off the wall.

“I’m heading home,” he says quietly, taking the stairs up out of the basement.

Felicity, Shado, and Joe watch him go and Felicity turns back to her laptop, brows drawn together a little. “Will that really give him closure?”

“It does for some people,” Shado replies from where she’s sharpening a knife at the right end of the table. Felicity glances over at her, then to Joe where he’s leaning back against the wall. She leans her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. “Are you going to be tall, dark, and creepy like Oliver while you’re down here too?” she asks him.

He frowns at that, brows drawing low together. 

Felicity points. “Yep. That’s the look.” He frowns a little more, eyes shifting off to a wall. She holds in a sigh, then leans back in her really uncomfortable chair. Seriously. Need. An upgrade. “So. How did things go with Wilson? Er- Slade. Your dad?” She makes another face. “I still can’t get used to thinking of him as a ‘dad’.”

Joe scoffs. “That’s because he isn’t one, not really,” he half-mutters, notably _not_ really answering her question.

Felicity winces. “That bad?”

“Let’s just say, work has always come first,” Joe replies, looking over briefly, “My mother stayed with him for five years, but he was home maybe half of that. I didn’t see him as much after they split.”

Felicity frowns, glancing over at Shado. “Was he like that on the island?” she asks, and Shado looks up from her blade, “All work and no play?”

“Work _was_ play,” Shado answers, and Felicity makes a face while Joe huffs an agreeing sound.

It’s quiet for a minute.

“What was the island like?” Felicity finally asks, leaning on her elbow again and looking at Shado, “Wilson hasn’t said much of anything, and we both know Oliver won’t.”

“So you think I will?” Shado replies a little teasingly with a raised brow.

Felicity smiles and shrugs.

Shado glances over at Joe briefly before focusing back down on her knife, holding it up to study the edge. “He was like that on the island, yes,” she starts after a moment, “We were trying to survive, and when we weren’t, we trained, for lack of anything better to do. If it wasn’t that, it was one of us up in a tree trying to hunt for hours on end, usually Slade or I until Oliver got more skilled at it and stopped accidentally chasing the prey away.” Her lips twitch, eyes distant in memory. “Slade was very focused on getting off the island and back home,” she continues, looking up to Joe, “To you, especially.”

Joe frowns while he listens, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

“He tried a few times, but things didn’t work out,” Shado continues, lips flattening as she looks back down to the blade, setting it down and grabbing another from the knives laid out on the table, thin and silver, shining in the lights when she picks one up. “The first time, Oliver wouldn’t leave my father behind, went back to try and save him before they knew about me being the reason he wouldn’t leave. Slade could have left, but he went to save Oliver. The second time, Ivo and his men came on a ship, and…” she trails off, brows drawn together. She shakes her head. “Things didn’t go well.”

“That’s when he thought you and the other girl died?” Joe speaks up.

Shado’s eyes dart up and she nods, then looks back down at her knife. “The scars on Oliver, you’ve seen them,” she says.

Felicity sucks in a breath. “I know Slade gave him the long one on his neck on accident,” she says quietly, “So the one in his side is…?”

“Ivo,” Shado answers, voice low and hard like nothing Felicity’s heard from her before, “He tortured Oliver because of the mirakuru. I’m not sure exactly what happened, I just know it was bad and...broke him, in some way, and he-...He wasn’t himself, after, when everything was happening.”

They’re quiet for a minute and then Felicity asks, quieter, “What _did_ happen?”

Shado glances up again, then back down at the knife, starting on sharpening it against a small wet stone. “Ivo had prisoners aboard the ship that he kept locked in cages. They had been experimented on with the mirakuru, and if they weren’t dying, they were insane, trying to kill anything in their immediate vicinity. When I got to the center of the ship, Oliver had already killed all but one of them. I’d never seen him so…” she trails off, hands stilling. She shakes her head a little and continues, “Oliver was the softest of all of us, younger, in some ways, more...naive to the world. Being on the island effected him the most, and then the mirakuru amplified that. He struggled with the duality of being who he was, and what being on the island was making him become. It brought things out in people, being in that environment, showed them sides of themselves they may not have been aware of, down to the bone, deeper. Lian Yu means ‘Purgatory’, and for that, it is aptly named.”

Felicity and Joe are quiet while they listen. Shado stops sharpening her knife again, holding it up to check the edge, focusing on her task while she talks.

“Slade and Sara tried to stop him from killing the last prisoner,” Shado continues, setting the knife down and looking at the tabletop, “Oliver reacted, and then Slade did, and then the ship exploded inwards and all of us were swept out. It all happened so fast. I drifted in the ocean until I came to another island, but Oliver and Sara ended up being found by the League and taken in, where they ended up joining them.” She takes a breath, looking up at them both. “I don’t think he’s a bad person, even now, after everything, but I think he’s lost himself in all the pain and he doesn’t know how to live without it. He buries things, pushes people away, tries to cut off all feeling to them. Slade is similar, in some ways. Even I did it, after coming back. It’s just how people try to protect themselves from more pain.” She pauses, sitting back in her chair. “We are all three of us damaged, and that’s part of what ties us together, but...”

“You feel responsible for each other,” Joe says after a minute, voice and expression unreadable.

Shado’s eyes dart up and she nods a little, studying him. “You can think what you want about your father, but for all the faults you find, he is an honorable man. He won’t leave until he knows Oliver is okay, not just physically alive, but able to _live_ , too.”

Joe frowns again and drops his eyes to the floor, shoulders hunched in a little. Felicity takes a breath, wiping at her wet eyes beneath her glasses.

“I’m sorry you guys had to go through all that,” she says, voice a little hoarse. Shado smiles and reaches over, setting a hand on her shoulder. Felicity reaches up and grips it, smiling sadly.

Joe straightens after a minute and uncrosses his arms, heading up the stairs. They both look up and watch him go.

“I think he has some thinking to do,” Felicity says quietly.

Shado nods, giving Felicity one more smile before reaching for another knife to sharpen.

\-----

Oliver hears the wood floor shift somewhere behind him, catches a hint of metal and blood on the air and turns his head enough to check his periphery. He looks back out the crack in the clock face glass after seeing who it is. “Finally had Smoak trace the phone you gave me?” he asks quietly.

“Well, you left without so much as a note when the last time I saw you you were barely breathing right,” Slade answers, stepping a little further into the room before coming to a stop, still back by the door in the floor.

Oliver takes a breath, fingers curling a little. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says.

“But I am,” Slade replies, blunt and simple. 

Oliver didn’t appreciate that about him on the island at first, thought he was too harsh and too hard, too much. But after some of the softness was scraped off of him, he came to appreciate it in some ways. Slade never lied, and he never beat around the bush. He was nearly always straight forward, and that was rare, especially back here in Starling where everything was smoke and mirrors and flashing lights, glitter and perfume and bright, dazzling colors. It’s all a distraction, a facade. So little of it is real. That’s maybe what Oliver misses most about the island. It was real and simple in a way little here is.

“Deadshot’s taken care of,” Slade says.

Oliver keeps quiet, absorbing that. He figured Slade would go after him and that he’d have his...team available. It still leaves the matter of who sent Deadshot, but that’s a worry for later.

“You should go back home with your son,” Oliver says after a minute, brows lowering a little, “He came all the way here to find you.”

“I’m not done here,” Slade replies, and Oliver turns a little to look at him.

“What are you trying to do?” he asks, brows furrowed, “‘Save me’? My ‘soul’?”

Slade watches a moment, then shakes his head a little. “I don’t know,” he answers, low and honest, “I just know that I can’t leave yet. My debt is not fulfilled.”

Oliver stares back a moment and then looks back out the crack at the city lights, street lamps and cars alike, people coming and going, a hive of activity to mirror it’s daylight self. The briefcases and suits are gone, replaced with laughter and yelling, arms in arms and hands holding hands, talking and laughing and music, kissing, like the world has flipped. His world flipped, so many times he doesn’t know which way is up, has gotten used to being sunken below the waves. Is that what Slade’s trying to change?

“You can’t ‘fix’ me,” he says, looking back. Slade watches him and Oliver takes a slow breath, fingers curling a little more under his stare.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” Slade says, taking a few steps closer, “I’ve only ever tried once, and it made you worse. I’m not doing it again.”

Oliver’s lips pinch. “And I’m not killing you again.” Slade’s brows lower a little and Oliver glances around the clock tower for a moment, trying to straighten out his thoughts. They always turn into a mess around Slade; he can’t think. “Ra’s will come for me eventually, or Nyssa. Both,” he continues, eyes landing back on Slade, “If the police or an assassin don’t kill me first. But you and Shado will keep trying to get in the way, like you did the other night, and I can’t- I won’t be responsible for that,” he finishes firmly.

“You are not responsible for my decisions,” Slade growls back just as firmly, and it makes Oliver pause, Shado’s words flashing through his head:

“ _The choices we make are our own. You are not responsible for them_.”

“But I’m responsible for everything else,” Oliver grits out low, “I can’t-” He cuts himself off, shaking his head a little and dragging his eyes away, teeth gritting at his own- _weakness_. He barely hears Slade’s steps move closer, sees him stop in his periphery and look out the crack in the glass too. Oliver’s fingers curl tight into his hoodie sleeves as his shoulders hunch a little. All he wants to do is- all he wants to do is _touch him_.

 _ **Selfish**_ , he scolds himself harshly, brows drawing lower together.

“You put too much on yourself,” Slade says after a minute, breaking the tense silence, “I wondered if that was my fault, but it’s your father’s.” Oliver’s eyes dart back and Slade watches him, smokey white and brown alike. “It all goes back to him, this putting everything on your shoulders. You need to let it go. We are all going to make our own decisions, and I choose to stay.”

Oliver stares at him a moment, closes his eyes firmly before opening them again and looking back over. “Why?” he asks, demands, “Why are you doing all this? Because you feel responsible?”

“Partly,” Slade answers, so- easily, “I don’t understand the rest, and I’m not trying to.”

Oliver frowns, brows furrowing, tries to read the look in Slade’s eye and swallows a little at what he finds. “What do you mean?” Slade turns towards him and Oliver straightens, tensing when Slade reaches up. Slade pulls his glove off and then slowly reaches forward while Oliver’s heart beats faster, sucking in a breath when Slade’s warm, calloused palm grips the scar free side of his neck, thumb brushing his jaw.

“You know,” is all Slade says, low and quiet and sure, as sure as the gaze locked on him.

Oliver stares back, swallowing a little. “This is a mistake,” he forces out, just as quiet, “We shouldn’t do this.”

“And I’ll ask you again,” Slade replies, stepping closer and slowly pulling Oliver in at the same time, feet moving without his say. “Are you going to stop me?” Slade breathes, breath ghosting across his mouth.

Oliver swallows, searching Slade’s eyes, heart thumping loud in his ears, but somehow Slade’s voice gets through, like all of Oliver’s senses are focused on him, the touch on his neck, the weight of Slade’s dark eye, the smell of the metal and blood and something mingled with them that’s just Slade, the feel of Slade’s hot breath against his lips. Oliver’s eyelids drop a little and he struggles, trying to hold himself still. It feels like he’s going to fall, and he doesn’t know where he’s going to fall to, or for how long; he only knows the crash at the bottom is probably going to kill them both.

 _Is that a bad thing to die for?_ part of him whispers.

He doesn’t know. 

He manages to hold still for another minute and then falls forward over the cliff anyway, leaning forward, lips crashing into Slade’s like the ocean rushing up against the rocks. Slade grips the side of his neck tighter and brushes their tongues together, and warmth shoots straight up Oliver’s spine and out through all his limbs, makes him reach up and grip Slade’s armor at the shoulders, his waist, pulling them closer until he feels the pouches on Slade’s belt against his waist, the shells across his chest. Slade’s other hand grips his hip and tugs him that much closer and Oliver sucks in a breath through his nose, shuddering faintly.

Slade backs him up until Oliver’s back hits cement, devours his mouth like he’s searching for something, _everything_ , traces his teeth and the roof of his mouth. Oliver groans quietly, starting to grow hard, pulls at the padding covering Slade’s arms and they pull apart, Oliver yanking his hoodie zipper down and throwing it off to the side while Slade works on his armor, undoing the straps of ammunition and kevlar. Oliver kicks his boots off, gets his pants undone and shoves them down, barely manages to wait half a minute before reaching forward for Slade’s belt, getting it undone while Slade works on the rest of his top. Oliver drops the belt to the floor while Slade drops his top down with it, raising a foot to start on his boots while Oliver gets Slade’s pants open and starts pushing them down. Slade growls and just yanks his boots off, tossing them aside with his pants before reaching for him again. 

Fingers dig into Oliver’s hair, brush it back from half of his face as their mouths slot back together, Oliver’s hands going for Slade’s skin, roaming over the smooth and raised, scarred parts alike, across his wide shoulders and down his broad chest, over the muscles of his stomach, around to his sides and to his back. He shudders as Slade’s hands slide down his own chest and stomach, down further. They grip his hips and spin him around, breaking the kiss, pushing him against the glass while Oliver braces his hands against the giant roman numeral six, panting as the arousal tingles up his spine, curls low in his gut and makes him harder. Calloused fingers glide slow down the center of his spine and his back curves under the touch without thought, Slade’s fingers lingering on the brand at the bottom. 

Slade doesn’t ask what either mean, just presses a breathy kiss to the top of Oliver’s spine and grinds forward between his cheeks, Oliver sucking in a breath at the hard length that slips up between them, foreign and new and- Slade angles it down, pushes it between his thighs up under his cock, against his balls, and Oliver shudders with a faint groan, pressing his thighs together when Slade’s foot nudges the outside of his own. Slade wraps an arm around his waist and rocks his hips, biting kisses across his right shoulder. Oliver groans low through another shudder, drops his hands to the edge of the window ledge and curls his fingers against the cement. Slade’s other hand slides around and up and grips his pec.

“I’m not a woman,” Oliver breathes out, looking back over his shoulder.

Slade pulls back just enough to look at him, gaze dark and heavy and lips parted a little as he pants. The hand on Oliver’s chest squeezes and rolls his nipple and Oliver’s eyes shut on a low moan, shuddering harder as the sensation spreads _all over_ , makes his cock leak. 

“Doesn’t mean similar places don’t feel good,” Slade replies low and rough, hips jerking forward against his ass and hard heat rocking between his thighs. Oliver feels precum coat them, smooth the slide.

The arm around his waist uncoils and slides down the length of his stomach, lower, wrapping around his cock as Slade’s thrusts speed up, rocking him forward a little. Oliver’s head drops back as he groans louder, hips bucking up into Slade’s grip. Slade’s hand moves, slow and torturous and firm from base to tip, squeezing around the head and making Oliver moan low and ragged, cheeks flushed, can feel his precum coat back down the length of his cock when Slade’s hand slides down and shudders again. Then Slade’s hand picks up the pace with his thrusts and Oliver squeezes his thighs tighter together, dropping his head forward.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes, barely audible, fingers curling harder against the edge of the window, is barely aware of them punching into the cement when Slade’s front presses all along his back and teeth bite at the base of his neck, mouth sucking a bruising kiss into his skin. Oliver’s breath stutters as his mind goes hazy, everything far away: the League, the assassin, his guilt, his anger, his doubts, it’s all gone, has no place in the pleasure swamping him, the feel of Slade’s hot skin all along his own, the fingers rubbing his nipple and the hand wrapped around his cock making the pleasure build higher and higher as Slade thrusts between his thighs, so- different from anything Oliver Queen remembers, and nothing Al Sah-him does. It’s new, foreign, and makes the pleasure build faster at the base of his spine-

“ _Slade_ ,” he pants, moans when Slade’s hand twists at the end of another pull on his cock with a harder pinch to his nipple and a sharp thrust. The pleasure spikes and crests and Oliver comes with a rough groan, spilling out over Slade’s hand. The other one drops from his chest to his hip, grips it bruisingly tight as Slade’s thrusts get faster, harder, a groan growled out rough against the side of his neck barely half a minute later that makes Oliver shudder, sticky warmth coating his thighs.

Oliver pants, trying to catch his breath, resting the side of his head down against the clock tower stone. Slade’s arm wraps back around his waist as his weight rests forward all along his back, and Oliver takes it as they both try to get their breathing back under control. 

Slade pulls back after a couple minutes and Oliver turns around, ignores the strange, sticky feeling between his thighs and reaches forward, gripping the side of Slade’s neck and pulling him into a rough kiss, trying to devour his mouth like Slade had his earlier. Slade crowds him back against the wall and Oliver turns, flips them and presses Slade back against the wall, heartbeat picking up at the rumble in Slade’s chest against his own. Oliver pulls back after a minute and looks at him, eyes still a little dazed, but slowly clearing. Slade doesn’t look much better, lips parted and brown eye half fogged with arousal.

Fingers brush his jaw and Oliver focuses, watching Slade watch him. He leans forward and off a little to the side, pressing their foreheads together. It feels-...part of him doesn’t like it, wants to pull away. It’s uncomfortable, close, _intimate_ -

He pulls back a little and looks at Slade again, can’t stand the softening look in his eye and leans forward to kiss him again, sliding their tongues together and gripping him tighter.

\-----

Malcolm Merlyn stares dispassionately out at the city through his penthouse windows while he slowly turns his phone in his hand. It’s an hour past Deadshot’s check in time.

He pushes himself up out of his chair and heads over to a small painting on the back wall that runs the length of the room, sliding it aside with a few fingers and tapping a code into the glowing keypad behind it, slipping his hand into his pocket as the hidden door slides open. He walks inside, looking over the black arrows lined up on the table, his black gear displayed straight across at the back.

“Guess I’ll just have to take care of this myself,” he says to the room, lips tilting up in a small smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said to Tatch, Roy and Thea are kind of cute? ?? 
> 
> Thea: Asks a legit question  
> Roy: Is a shit  
> Thea: Kicks  
> Roy: _Ow_. Glares  
>  Thea: Glares back
> 
> They're adorable


	23. I'm on the floor, I'm on the ocean floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO. YES. I'VE BEEN AGONIZING OVER THIS CHAPTER FOR DAYS. So there might still be some flaws I don't know anymore at this point I TRIED. XDD OTL _Weeps._ I've been looking at this too long and it got rEALLY LONG.  
>  THANK YOU AGAIN TATCH FOR PUTTING UP WITH MY INCESSANT WHINING. OTLLLL <333
> 
> Warnings for: Some gore, a vague mention of homophobia, aaaaaaand Oliver tries to do something with another person that some people might not agree with, but he doesn't get very far. Look at the notes at the bottom if you want the spoiler details.
> 
> Song I had on repeat: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yo5fE-Zl-V4 "This Is The Time (Ballast)" by Nothing More

Slade cracks his eyes open, cheek pressed to a wood floor. He doesn’t recognize where he is at first and lifts his head to look around. His gaze stops on pale skin lit in dimmed, early morning light, trailing to what he can see of the tattoo lining down the center of Oliver’s back, stopping at what he can see of the brand above his tailbone. It’s an arrow shape, almost looks like an upside down bird with its tail feathers pointing up towards the back of his head and a triangular shape beneath it. It’s long scarred over, old, but that doesn’t mean much with the mirakuru.

Oliver turns his head after a minute and looks back where they’re both half sprawled on their stomachs in the clock tower. Slade looks down at the brand again, the string of Arabic that disappears behind dips and curves of smooth and scarred muscle. 

It’s quiet for a minute, then:

“Symbols of my commitment to the League,” Oliver says, voice neutral and morning hushed.

Slade’s eye darts to his face, then back down to the brand. He slowly reaches over and traces his fingers around its nearest edges. 

He hates it. 

He slowly draws his fingers up the Arabic and feels Oliver shudder faintly beneath his fingertips. “What does it say?” Slade asks, voice just as hushed.

Oliver doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Slade keeps his eye on the path of his fingers, giving him time. He might not answer at all; Slade’s always a little surprised when he does.

“We have a saying, when one of us dies,” Oliver eventually answers in that same, neutral tone, “I got it tattooed, in case I die alone.”

Slade’s fingers stop at the start of it up under Oliver’s hair, at the edge of his hairline. He draws his hand back and pushes himself up to his knees. Oliver rolls over, hiding the tattoos and brand away. They watch each other in the quiet, no anger, no threat, maybe for the first time since the island. But that’s not quite right either.

“You should go,” Oliver says.

Slade keeps watching him. “Someone still wants you dead.”

Oliver’s eyes harden and narrow a little, more the assassin he is rather than the kid Slade knew buried beneath it. Oliver doesn’t say anything this time and Slade pushes himself to his feet, padding over to his pants and socks. He needs a shower and food, should check in with Joe and Shado. 

Guilt kicks him between the ribs at that and he grimaces a little, pulling his pants on.

He hadn’t intended to fall asleep. 

He glances over when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye, watching Oliver pull his own pants on. A thought comes, unbidden, and Slade pauses, just watching the tattoos down Oliver’s back shift in the light slowly turning gold through the clock face glass. It’s a useless thought and he’s not sure why it came to mind, but he finds himself voicing it anyway:

“You never said,” he says, then clarifies, “On the island. Your favorite ice cream.”

Oliver stills, hoodie in his hands. He slowly half turns back to look at him. 

They talked about it once, an innocuous conversation to distract them from their situation, but Slade finds himself wondering if any of them actually did it, got ice cream after getting off the island. He didn’t. He’s not sure about Shado, but he doubts she did either.

Oliver frowns and turns away, pulling his hoodie on. Slade waits a minute before turning and picking up his shirt, pulling it on, then his socks and boots. He pauses when Oliver says, “Mint chocolate.”

Slade frowns over, eyebrow slowly rising. “Are you kidding.”

Oliver turns to frown back at him, brows drawn together. “No.”

Slade stares another moment before he huffs, then it slowly grows and grows until he’s throwing his head back and laughing. He catches Oliver’s confused, incredulous look, more open than he’s seen it in years, and it just makes him laugh a little harder. A dumbfounded assassin. He’s never seen one before.

“What?” Oliver demands when Slade eventually calms down, Oliver staring at him like he’s grown a second head.

“It’s green,” is all Slade says, huffing again as he looks over.

Oliver stares, eyes catching the light and lighting up vibrant emerald, then frowns harder and shakes his head, turning away. But Slade sees his shoulders lift just a little and hears a breath that might be something that wants to be an amused huff. Maybe.

\-----

Roy taps a new text open and sends it:

‘ _Got meeting dont need help_ ’

He pockets his phone, only to dig it back out when it vibrates barely five seconds later.

‘ _WHAT HOW_ ’

He snorts and texts back:

‘ _Found him’_

 _‘HOW?????_ ’

He frowns in thought, glancing up to the street as he walks. He’s not sure Ghost will like him telling, since he seems to be watching the Queen family and, you know, had a sword at Roy’s throat just for being there, but…

_“I need someone to help me find them who doesn’t want to hunt them down or kill them, or lie to me.”_

‘ _Not sure youll believe me_ ’, he settles on sending, glancing up as he turns a street corner. His phone vibrates.

‘ _H A R P E R_ ’

He hears it in Thompson’s aged, whipsnap voice in his head and cringes a little, quickly tapping out:

‘ _Assassin next to your house_ ’

His phone vibrates faster than last time.

‘ _????????????_ ’

Then:

‘ _Wait_ ’

He frowns, raising an eyebrow at his phone before looking up again. It doesn’t vibrate after one minute, five minutes, ten, so he pockets it, letting the conversation go. He takes a breath as he focuses on tonight, glancing over as he passes by the Queen Steel Factory, looking up to scan the surrounding rooftops.

\-----

“You’re involving some kid in this crusade now?” Joe asks, raising a brow from where he’s all but brooding next to Slade’s open hotel room door.

Slade shoves his gear into his duffel and zips it up, pushing a hand back through his damp hair and making the short spikes even more of a mess. “I wasn’t going to get involved, but Smoak has a way of getting what she wants,” he scowls.

Joe’s other eyebrow jumps up and Slade turns away, throwing his jacket and keffiyeh on before slipping on his sunglasses and grabbing his room key. Joe turns and leads the way out and Slade follows, shutting and locking the door behind him and giving the knob a quick twist to make sure it’s locked. They pass by Joe’s room a couple down on the way to the parking lot. They’re only a few rooms apart, but like everything else between them, it feels like a canyon.

“You’re getting soft,” Joe says. 

Slade slants a look at his back but ignores the jab; it’s not the first one Joe’s lobbed his way since arriving. They haven’t talked much outside of that. Slade’s said all he needs to say, anything else he doesn’t know how to approach, never has. He feels guilt for that, but he’s never figured out how to change it, wasn’t sure if he even should. 

He wasn’t around much when Joe was growing up, before the island. A.S.I.S. kept him deployed on missions all over the world, usually for weeks and months at a time. He’d wanted to be around more for Joe, but the longer he was home, the more restless he got, the less he could stand it, the every day drone of normalcy, watching the world move by and people go through it without a thought for anything outside of the small spheres they lived in. 

And then there was him. What kind of father was he that while watching Joe’s school games he spent most of the time alert for threats and half the time going over ways he could dismantle them with his bare hands. Adeline knew it, the kind of person he was. He saw it in her eyes every time she looked at him, saw the hope that he’d change grow dimmer and dimmer over the six months after Joe was born. Because Slade didn’t stop working, didn’t stop leaving, didn’t stop killing, and she figured out he never would, not even with Joe being the best reason to.

Slade watches his son’s back, his broad shoulders. He hasn’t filled out all the way yet, but he’s already as tall as Slade, already grown up.

Slade’s lips twist a little and he takes a breath, pushing those thoughts aside.

He stops next to his rental car’s driver’s side door, pausing when his phone vibrates. He digs it out while he shoulders his bag and gets the car keys out of his other pocket, unlocking the door and pulling it open. He checks the phone screen and sighs as he answers, because it’s the same damn number he’s gotten the last three times. “What,” he says, shoving his bag over the seat and into the back before getting in and closing the door. His eyes darts over when Joe taps on the passenger window, frowning and unlocking the rest of the car, watching as he gets in.

“ _The assassin was outside our **house?!**_ ” Thea nearly shouts through the speaker. 

Slade jerks the phone away, wincing at the sharp sound. Joe looks over, cocking a brow, and Slade shakes his head, trying to figure out how she-

 _The boy_.

“He told you,” Slade growls back.

“ _Who, Roy?_ ” she demands, “ _Yeah, he actually **tells** me things, unlike **you**. You won’t even let me see my brother._ ”

“I told you to let me handle it,” he bites back.

“ _I’m getting tired of letting you ‘handle it’. He got shot! He could have died and I never would have even seen him before it happened!_ ” Her voice goes tight at the end and the guilt hits him again, just another wave in a sea of it.

“He’s not there yet,” Slade replies low, “If you force it, it will just take longer.”

“ _It’s already taken longer!_ ” Thea shouts back, voice going hoarse, “ _ **I can’t**_ -” She cuts herself off and he hears her breathe hard on the other end of the line, pressing his lips flat together. He slowly sits back in his seat, looking out the window.

He lets out a quiet sigh. “I’ll see what I can do,” he says calmer, “But I can’t promise anything. He’s not the same person you knew.”

“ _You think I don’t know that?_ ” she demands back, voice rough.

“No, I don’t think you do,” he replies firmly, glancing over at Joe briefly, who’s still watching him, expression unreadable. Slade narrows his eyes a fraction, forcing that guilt down with the rest, and looks back out the window. He hears her sniffle quietly and gives her a minute before continuing, “I’m already pushing as much as I can. If I push any more, he’ll bolt. Do you understand?” 

He hears her take a breath, then another to steady herself before breathing out, “ _Yes. Yes, I understand. I’m just- This is so much. He was dead. I thought he was dead for **five years** and now he’s **not** , but he’s not home and he’s been through- I don’t know what, but it’s made him-_...” she trails off. “ _Do you know what happened to him?_ ” she asks quieter after a minute.

Slade thinks of the tattoo, the brand, the scars, and grimaces a little. “Some of it.”

“ _You sound like I shouldn’t ask_ ,” she says.

“I’m not going to tell you,” he replies, “He will, if and when he’s ready. He might not ever say anything.” He pauses, looking over at Joe again as he finishes, “Just be there to listen, even if all he says is silence.”

Joe sits up a little straighter then drags his eyes away, looking out the passenger window. Slade’s expression tightens and he looks back forward again, leaning forward to slide the key in the ignition. “I’m hanging up now,” he says.

“ _Wait_ ,” she says quickly, “ _My mother. She...she knew about the assassin. Do you know why?_ ”

“No,” he answers, grip tightening a little on the phone, “But it’s not the only suspicious thing she’s done.” Thea doesn’t say anything, and that makes him frown. “Why? Have you seen something?” he asks slowly. She still doesn’t say anything and he frowns harder. “Don’t do anything stupid, kid,” he warns low, glancing towards his phone.

She tries to scoff, half succeeds, and then hangs up. He pulls his phone away and ends the call, glaring at it a moment before shoving it into his pocket with a low growl.

“Trouble?” Joe asks, finally looking back.

“Teenagers,” Slade grunts.

Joe snorts. “You should be glad you missed those years.”

Slade stills for a moment, then reaches over and grips Joe’s shoulder so fast it takes them both by surprise, but Slade gets out, “I’m not _glad_ I missed anything.” Joe stares at him, eyes still a little wide and shoulder stiff under Slade’s hand. Part of Slade wants to let go, but he tightens his grip instead, making sure to keep it light enough that it doesn’t dip into pain. “I know I wasn’t around,” he continues, holding Joe’s stare over the top of his sunglasses. He swallows a little and forces out, “I’m sorry, Joe.”

Joe keeps staring at him another minute before his eyes dart to the side, head turning a little away. “I know you’re sorry, but it never changes, does it.” He looks back. “No matter how sorry you are, you still leave.”

Slade’s grip tightens with something in his chest and he makes himself let go before he uses too much force, pulling back to his own seat. They sit in the quiet for a minute, two, uncomfortable. 

“I don’t think I was meant for kids,” Slade says quietly, breaking it, sitting back a little and staring out the windshield. Saying it feels like dragging a weighted stone up the back of his throat, heavy, but familiar, something that’s always been there. “If I was, I wouldn’t be a killer.”

Joe watches his father, lips pressing together while his fingers curl, heart twisting. He drags his eyes away, down, staring at the crease where the door meets the tan dashboard. “I suppose I shouldn’t have them either, then,” he says quietly, mouth twisting.

Slade looks back over, studying him, feels...helpless, for the first time in a long time. “I don’t know,” he says after a minute, taking a breath and letting it out slow. “I should’ve tried harder. You’re here, trying harder than I did. You’re a better man than I am.” Joe’s eyes snap back and Slade looks over to meet them, as painful as it is. “For what it’s worth,” Slade continues, “I’m proud of you.”

Joe sits up a little more again, eyes widening a bit. They start going a little red around the edges and Joe quickly looks away, turning his head further towards the window. 

Joe swallows past his tightening throat and makes himself take a breath and hold it, let it out slow. 

They sit there again, still uncomfortable, but different from last time. Joe’s not sure if that’s better or worse.

He manages to get his throat to loosen up enough to say, “Drive, old man.” His father doesn’t move for a minute, then he hears the key turn in the ignition and the engine come to life. The world starts pulling away as they reverse, and Joe focuses on it so he can try and pull himself back together. 

Maybe he should’ve taken his own car. 

Maybe not.

\-----

“There’s a handsome man here to see you,” Joanna says with a little smirk as she passes. 

Laurel looks up from her files, eyes darting to the door. She slowly smiles when she sees who it is, standing up from her desk. “Tommy.”

“Laurel,” he returns with a playful smile, rounding Thea’s empty desk. “You know, I just love the way you say my name. Has a certain _ring_ to it,” he teases.

She huffs a laugh, pulling him in for a quick kiss before reaching over to grab her purse. “I didn’t realize the time.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I scheduled us lunch then and offered to drive, or you would have missed it and my _stellar_ company,” he replies lightly, offering out his arm. She smiles, playful, looping her arm with his and letting him lead her out. He looks around then back to her. “No Thea again?” he asks.

Laurel’s playful mood slips and she looks back over at Thea’s desk as they head towards the door. “No, called in,” she answers, brows drawing together. There was nothing about the vigilantes in the news, but if Thea somehow knows something...She’s worried. The Queens have a habit of diving before looking.

Tommy makes a considering sound, pulling the front C.N.R.I. door open and letting her walk out first before following, keeping their arms linked. “Maybe she caught another bug?” he asks, brows furrowing as he looks over, “Can you get sick again that quickly? Honestly I’ve only ever been sick about five times in my life.”

Laurel raises an eyebrow back, unlooping their arms as he pulls the passenger door open for her. Her lips curl up again without her say and she slips inside, watching him close the door and round the front of the car while she gets her seatbelt on. “Maybe,” she answers after he gets in.

Tommy buckles his seatbelt and starts the car, putting it in gear. “Well, I’ll drop by her house after lunch and see how she’s feeling. How about that?” he asks, checking out the windows and mirrors before pulling away from the curb out into the street.

Laurel pretends to hum in thought, trying to keep the apprehension off her face. She loves Thea, but if Thea’s involved with the vigilantes, she doesn’t want Tommy anywhere near it. “That’s alright. I’m sure she’ll be in tomorrow,” she replies, putting on a smile, “Besides, don’t you have a meeting with your father this afternoon?”

Tommy groans, rolling his eyes up. “Don’t remind me.”

Laurel gives him an honest smile this time, reaching over to rest a hand on his arm. “It’ll be _fine_.”

Tommy huffs, glancing over briefly before looking back to the road. “I don’t think ‘fine’ is in his vocabulary.”

\-----

Thea crosses her arms as she walks through the forest, scanning the area. She’s been at it for an hour already, had to call in from work just to try and soothe her paranoia and take a look. It’s making her paranoia about Laurel suspecting her worse, but a potential assassin killed on their property without any of them knowing overrides that. She even managed to lose her temporary bodyguard since Mr. Diggle called in from work.

 _Maybe he’s in on this vigilante business too_ , she muses, huffing at the thought.

She keeps walking another hour, around trees and behind bushes before finally deciding to call it quits. She could’ve just texted Roy, he might know something, but like he said, he’s from the Glades. If she _does_ find a dead body and calls the cops, she doesn’t want him around and accidentally getting in trouble in the process.

She huffs a sigh, sending her bangs up, then turns around and starts heading back to the house. 

A couple minutes go by of her picking her way back, and then she catches a whiff of something _foul_ on the air and waves a hand in front of her face as her nose scrunches up. It smells like-

She freezes, eyes slowly, intently scanning the area, the trees, the ground, the bushes. She hears something shift faintly and slowly turns around, just as slowly following the sound. It gets louder the further she walks, sounds more like- something...slick; she can’t really describe it. Shifting and slick...sounds.

She swallows and slowly rounds another tree, jerking to a sharp stop.

A brown dog’s head snaps up, amber eyes staring at her with blood- blood around its muzzle and something pink hanging from its-

Her eyes slowly drop and her stomach roils so fast she- 

Thea turns and throws up behind the tree she’s next to, image imprinted on the backs of her eyes.

A man on his stomach, face in the dirt, his side torn up and into, clothes and all, a couple guns discarded on the ground and the gaping hole of his insides sun dried a deep red, blood stained bone from his ribcage arcing up towards the treetops- And the _**smell**_ -

She chokes and gags, throws up bile that burns on the way up, coughing. She spits a few times before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and looking over again. The dog’s gone back to-

She turns and retches, coughs and wipes her mouth before quickly walking away, picking up speed until she’s running full tilt through the forest, throwing her arms up to shove branches out of her face as she breathes hard, vision a little blurry and heart racing so fast it’s almost all she can hear, soundtrack to the gore still flashing through her mind. 

She bolts out of the forest and back onto the grass surrounding the garden, heading straight through it and up to the double doors, shoving them open. She stumbles a little on her way inside but runs straight for the phone, completely forgets she has her own in her pocket.

\-----

Felicity knocks on the apartment door, lowering her hand and waiting. She counts to sixty before knocking again, trying not to make it too loud. Or maybe she should? Is Diggle even home? He might not be. Maybe she should’ve waited until tomorrow. It’s only been…

She mentally counts.

Not even twenty-four hours. Maybe she should-

The lock turns and clicks and then the door pulls open a foot, Diggle standing there in black sweatpants and a tank top, looking like he hasn’t slept all night.

“Oh,” Felicity lets out, eyes softening. “Hi, John,” she says gentler.

“Felicity,” he greets back quietly, voice a little rough around the edges. He clears it. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just-...worried,” she answers honestly, ducking her head a tiny bit before straightening again, “I just wanted to check in on you.”

He sighs quietly, looking back into his dark apartment before his gaze returns to her. “Not exactly in the best shape for company.”

“You don’t have to invite me in if that makes you uncomfortable,” she says quickly, quiet and gentle, smiling a little sadly, “I just wanted to let you know that-...well...I know we’re not _exactly_ a team, but you’re not alone, John. I know Wilson wouldn’t be the first to say it, but I’m here. Saying it,” she babbles a little. She shakes herself and finishes, “I’m here. If you need someone.”

Diggle watches her a moment before his lips curl up just a little. He closes his eyes briefly and lets out another weary sigh, nodding. “Thank you, Felicity,” he says sincerely.

She smiles. “That’s what friends are for...right?” she asks hesitantly, not sure if she’s overstepping.

Diggle smiles a little more, replying after a moment, “Right.”

Felicity lets out a breath, relaxing with a bigger smile.

\-----

Oliver looks around the warehouse office one more time, his laptop stashed in the bottom of a rusting filing cabinet on the right, the new clothes he stole and minimal supplies rolled up in another in the middle back against the wall. He’ll have to sleep on the floor, but that’s familiar. He didn’t have a bed in the clock tower, or much of one on the island, or for half of his time with the League.

He pulls his mask up and slips out the door, closing it behind him, heading down the catwalk that runs the length of the warehouse. He jumps out the broken window at the end, dropping to the second story roof below, then the ground below that, glancing around as he walks. There’s no one around, so he keeps going.

The warehouse itself is closer to the edge of the Glades, not too short of the weeds and open stretch of wild before the highway. There’s still a few buildings past it, enough that it’s not totally exposed and he won’t be either if he has to run. It’ll work for now.

He keeps his head down and weaves through the streets, climbs up a rickety fire escape and leaps the rooftops, staying high and scanning the streets below. There’s people milling around, some standing around steel barrels of fire, others smoking in groups. Half of the people he sees travel in small clusters while the rest seem to dart from place to place alone, curled in on themselves like they’re trying to shrink away from the world. Most of the buildings are dilapidated or in need of some form of repair, aging and clinging to their foundations while trash litters every street.

He looks back up and keeps moving, jumping to another roof.

The Glades weren’t always like this, from what he remembers, but those were early years, back when he and Tommy were still growing up, chasing other kids and each other on playgrounds, before Tommy’s mother died and Thea was born.

Oliver’s chest gives a twinge and he grimaces a little, jumping to another roof. He stops at the steel factory and jumps down, looking up, reading the words across the top:

‘ _Queen Industrial Inc. Steel Fabrication & Welding_’

His father took him here once, another lifetime ago. It feels like three at least, the memories old and worn from being out in the elements, holes wearing wider as time goes by. He can’t remember the sound of his father’s laugh, or his mother’s. He doesn’t mourn for it, but it feels like a hollow space in his chest, another gap in Oliver Queen’s beaten memory.

He walks to the slider door, notes the lack of cars and pulls out the phone Slade gave him, sending a text to the second number on it. His phone vibrates after a couple minutes with a reply and he pulls the door open just wide enough to slip inside, closing it behind him. He still needs to find more weapons and deal with whoever hired the assassin, but Smoak might be able to give him something on the latter. It would save time and potential, further confrontations with the police if he didn’t have to go through his List targets one by one.

He tries the basement door and it opens, and he slowly heads down, keeping his eyes and ears open. He steps off the stairs and walks over, stopping next to the steel table when he finds Shado further in the room doing the Tai Chi stances she used to do on the island, sometimes in the fuselage, sometimes outside when the weather permitted. He watches for a minute before she says, “Are you going to just stand there?”

“ _Are you going to just stand there?”_

_Oliver blinks, rolls his eyes but sets her bow down and walks over. He looks over to see which pose she’s on and lifts his arms to get into position five feet away, following along, lips curling up when he catches her small smile._

_“If you’d told me five months ago I’d be doing this willingly, I would have said you were nuts,” he says, sweeping his arms up and then shifting his left leg._

_She raises a brow, keeping her eyes on her movements. “If you’d told me I’d be teaching it to you, I would have laughed.”_

_He huffs a breathy laugh at that and she smiles, sweeping into the next pose with him following along._

He darts a quick look around the empty room before his eyes land back on her. She slowly sweeps her arms up above her head, holding the pose for five seconds before just as slowly lowering them and twisting. He knows exactly what position she’s doing, exactly where in the sequence of moves she is.

His fingers twitch a little at his sides and he debates with himself for a minute before eventually reaching up and pushing his hood back. He pulls his mask off and pushes it into a pocket before walking over. Her eyes don’t ever shift from her hands, she doesn’t tense as he approaches or keep her back from him, and he gets into position, waiting until she’s done with the movement before slipping into the next one with her, turning and moving his own arms, keeping perfect form and time. He sees her lips curl up a little but keeps his own expression neutral, smoothly flowing with her into the next stance. 

Something turns over in his chest as he does, and he’s not sure how to feel about it, nor the fact that he hasn’t done this in a while, but his form is nearly flawless.

\-----

“Hey, I’m here to see Thea?” Tommy asks, glancing back at the police cars and coroner’s van out front again before his worried eyes dart back.

The guard pulls the door open and steps back, gesturing towards the living room, and Tommy hurries inside, making a beeline for it. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, finds Thea and Moira sat on the couch with Detectives Lance and Hilton on the one opposite, all of them looking over. “Are you guys alright?” Tommy asks quickly, looking back to Thea and Moira, the former of which looks pale and shaky-

“Thea Queen here found a dead body on the property,” Lance answers, looking back. 

“ _What?!_ ” Tommy lets out. He and Lance look at each other and then away, Tommy focusing on Thea instead of the _awkward_.

He quickly walks over, taking a seat on the other side of her and resting a hand on her shoulder. She shudders and closes her eyes, squeezing them shut. 

“Are you alright?” he asks gently. He hasn’t always been around since Oliver died, but he’s tried to be. It’s been less and less the last couple years because she’s gotten older and their lives have just been leading them away from each other, but he should’ve- He should’ve tried harder. She’s his best friend’s little sister, and his friend too, and Laurel’s. He should’ve been doing better than he has been.

“I don’t know,” Thea chokes out, hoarse, and he squeezes her shoulder, leaning closer to give her a half-hug. Her hand comes up and grips his jacket, fingers curling into it tight while her mother’s lips pinch from her other side.

“And you don’t know why he was there?” Lance asks, drawing all their attentions back. His brown eyes focus on Thea like laser points, searching like a hound on the hunt. “He was armed with some pretty serious weaponry. We think he might be a mercenary or something, definitely not just a run of the mill thief. And if he was after your family, he might’ve been killed by one of the vigilantes, since they seem to have a habit of saving you.”

“Detective, are you going to get to the point? Or just keep _implying_ and further traumatizing my daughter?” Moira demands, brows lowered defensively.

Lance’s eyes dart to her and back, then shift back to Moira. “I want to know if Thea knows who the vigilante is, because chances are _he’s_ the one who did this. Or maybe you know something?” he prods, brows lowering.

Moira tightens her fists and stands, glaring down at him. “ _That’s enough_. You have the security footage we’ve provided you and my daughter has said all she can, _twice_ now. _Please leave_.”

Lance scoffs quietly but him and his partner stand, Hilton pocketing his small notebook.

“Thank you for your time,” Hilton says, nodding a little at Moira before shepherding Lance out of the room and to the front door. 

Moira takes a breath and watches them leave before sitting back down, reaching over to wrap an arm around Thea’s back under Tommy’s and hug her tight.

\--

“Well, that went about as well as expected,” Lucas says.

“What does that mean?” Lance demands, looking over at him as they head down the Queen’s ridiculous front steps, turning left to head down even more.

“Just that if you go at a traumatized teenager like an attack dog, she’s not going to talk, and her mother is gonna clam up,” Lucas replies, looking back over, hands in his trench coat pockets. “Honey works better than vinegar,” he adds, “And you really think she has something to do with the vigilantes?” His brows draw together and he frowns when Lance looks away. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Something I’m not even entirely sure about myself yet,” Lance replies, looking back, “But I will, when I have more to go on.”

They both pause on their way to their car parked next to the coroner van when another pulls up, black and sleek. A woman in a black suit steps out and closes the door, eyes zeroing in on them. “Starling Detectives, I presume?” she asks, walking towards them.

Lance’s brows furrow. “Yeah. Who’s asking?”

The woman pulls a badge out of her inner coat pocket and flips it open, holding it up. “Agent Michaels from A.R.G.U.S. I’m here to look at the body and inform you that A.R.G.U.S. will be taking over the investigation.”

“You what?” Lance asks, eyebrows shooting up before they drop back down, “ _Now wait a minute_ , what jurisdiction do you have to-”

“Deadshot is the man’s codename, if he’s who we think he is,” Agent Michaels calmly interrupts, slipping her badge back into her coat, “An international assassin wanted by Interpol. We’re mediating and negotiating workload.” They both stare while her blue eyes shift up to the mansion behind them, then back. “You’ve talked to the family?”

Lucas gets his tongue unstuck first and answers, “Yeah. The daughter found him. Said she was out on a walk when she came across a dog...eating him.”

Michael’s lips pinch a little and she nods, stepping past them. They both turn, watching her go. Lance opens his mouth but Lucas grabs his arm, Lance’s eyes snapping over while Lucas shakes his head.

“Whatever you’re looking into, do it quietly,” Lucas warns, “And without drawing attention. Last thing we need is A.R.G.U.S. getting in on the vigilante investigation, too.” Though he’s kind of surprised they haven’t yet, now that he thinks about it, what with the amount of deaths involved. They’re a quiet organization, and even the police don’t know a lot about them, just that they’re usually called in when things go severely sideways. If they’re here for this assassin, he doesn’t want to get in the middle of it, or have _them_ get in the middle of _their_ investigation.

Lucas looks up to Michaels taking the stairs while Lance’s lips press flat together and he makes a frustrated sound, glaring at Michael’s back before turning sharply and heading for their car.

\-----

Felicity slows as she makes her way downstairs into the factory basement, blinking. Oliver’s back, and he and Shado are...training. Sparring?

“Oh, good,” Felicity says as she steps the rest of the way down, heading over to the table to set down her things, “Here I was actually kind of worried about you, being poisoned and nearly dying and all, but you’re fine and getting all...sweaty.”

Oliver completely ignores her while Shado huffs a laugh in between throwing a punch and dodging Oliver’s kick, flipping back and lowering her center of gravity as he runs at her.

Felicity watches them move so... _fluidly_ for a minute before snapping out of her trance and reaching into her bag, digging out the small plant she bought on the way and setting it next to her laptop, turning it a little until she’s satisfied. She plants her hands on her hips and nods once with a smile. Now she just needs to change the _lights. Ugh, headache_. She hears the door open after a few minutes and looks over and up, watching Joe and Wilson come down the stairs, catching the way Joe stills behind Wilson when his eyes land on Shado and Oliver. Felicity’s eyes dart back and forth between them before her eyebrows slowly rise and she turns back to her laptop. She didn’t have any siblings growing up, but she definitely recognizes jealousy when she sees it.

 _But Oliver isn’t like a sibling, is he?_ she wonders, frowning in thought as she looks back over.

Slade pauses at the bottom of the stairs and Oliver looks over. They lock eyes briefly and then Oliver’s world flips when a leg locks around the back of his neck, rolling him down to the floor. His breath rushes out of him as his back hits cement, Shado’s eyebrow rising as her lips quirk up in a small smirk.

“What was that Slade said about distractions on the island?” she says close under her panting breath, just for his ears. Oliver glares up at her and rolls to the side, out of her grip, getting back to his feet. Shado gets to her own and smirks a little more before heading over to her bag and digging out a water bottle.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Felicity asks now that they’re taking a break, drawing Oliver’s eyes over.

“I gave my word,” he answers.

Her eyebrows jump up. “Oh, right. I forgot. With everything going on. Speaking of,” she continues, “I don’t know who hired Deadshot yet but I’m looking into it. Might be a while, but I’ve narrowed the list down some with the amount of money it’d probably take to hire him in the first place.” She looks down to her laptop screen, tapping at a few keys as her brows furrow. “Still _way_ too many candidates. I just wish I could be sure if it was someone who lives in the city or not. That’d narrow it down even more…” she trails off to herself, biting at her short thumbnail.

Joe watches Oliver another moment, studying him, then his gaze darts over when his father moves, pulling his phone out and answering it. His father doesn’t say anything, then straightens sharply.

“Are you sure?” Slade asks, low and tense. They all look over while he stares straight ahead, listening to something on the other end. After a minute he hangs up, looking over to Oliver. “Your sister found Deadshot’s body in the forest.”

Oliver straightens too, brows lowering. “You left him there for her to find?” he asks, so flat and steady Felicity cringes, eyes darting back to Wilson.

“I didn’t intend for her to,” Slade answers, turning a little more towards him, “I thought animals or a guard would. She called the police.”

“So...what’s the problem?” Felicity asks slowly. “They’re not arresting her are they?” she asks next, sitting up straighter.

“An A.R.G.U.S. agent got involved,” Slade replies, glancing to her briefly before his eyes shift back to Oliver, “I wasn’t counting on the assassin being that well known. Have you heard of them?”

“Yes,” Oliver answers, “They’ve been after the League almost as long as A.S.I.S.”

“So...that means they’re after you, too,” Felicity says, pointing to Oliver.

Oliver’s lips press together and he looks off towards the wall while he thinks.

“You’re popular for a dead man,” Joe observes, crossing his arms and raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

Oliver’s eyes drop to the floor, searching it for answers. He should leave, he wasn’t wrong about that before, but if he leaves, he won’t root out who sent the assassin, he won’t be able to finish hunting the rest of Robert’s List, and if the League come for him, or Thea or Moira, he won’t be here to do anything about it, same with whoever sent the assassin. They knew he was watching the Queens. If whoever hired the assassin went after them to draw him out-…

That, and...

He looks over to Shado, then Slade.

But it’s better if he’s not around them, regardless of what happened last night, maybe even because of it. He and Slade are just falling deeper down that hole, maybe there’s still time to claw out of it before they both hit bottom.

“Can you get into A.R.G.U.S.’s servers?” Slade asks, looking to Felicity.

She blinks back. “With... _this?_ ” She gestures to her laptop. “No. I need- something _way_ better than a laptop for that. ...If I were to do it.”

“What do you need?” Slade asks.

Felicity glances up in thought, humming while she thinks. “The only thing around that I _might_ be able to get access to without spending a small fortune-”

“Money isn’t a problem,” Slade cuts her off, and her eyes snap back to him, then narrow a little.

“Are you telling me you could’ve gotten that window fixed and some better lights in here this _whole time?_ ” she asks slowly, crossing her arms and huffing a breath when he doesn’t answer. “Of course you could have. Why am I surprised.”

“ _Felicity_ ,” Slade says firmly, and she huffs again.

“I’ll text you a list. Better yet, I’ll go with you. I need to talk to you about something,” she says as she grabs her bag, heading past Slade for the stairs. Slade turns to follow, pausing to look back between Shado, Oliver, and Joe. His eyes land back on Oliver. “Don’t kill anyone.”

Oliver frowns a little and stares back and Slade turns, heading up the stairs and out the door after Felicity, closing it behind him.

Slade waits until they’re enclosed in the car outside and the engine’s on before asking, “What did you want to talk about?”

Felicity blinks over, then sits up a little straighter, buckling her seatbelt. “Well, for one, Joe doesn’t seem to like Oliver much. You sure it’s a good idea to leave the two of them alone together?”

Slade sends her a look before pushing his sunglasses on and backing the car up, turning and driving it down to the gate. Once they’re out and on the road, Felicity continues, “ _Aaaand_ , I’ve been doing some looking around the city for a place, just in case...”

\--

Shado takes a bite of her protein bar, eyes shifting from Oliver to Joe, then back again. Oliver’s sitting back in his usual spot against the wall, forearms resting on his pulled up knees and eyes closed. 

She shifts her eyes back.

Joe’s leaning back against the table with his arms crossed, and has been watching him for the past half hour, the line between his furrowed brows gradually getting more and more pronounced.

She digs another bar out of her bag and walks over to Oliver, tossing it down. Oliver catches the bar, eyes snapping open to look at it and then over at her as she takes a seat to his right, in front of Joe’s line of sight. She takes another bite of her own and looks back, raising a brow. “It’s not poisoned,” she says.

He frowns a little before looking down at the bar, turning it over once in his hands before finally tearing it open and taking a bite, staring off at the wall while he chews.

She watches him a moment. “You’re thinking too much,” she says, taking another bite. He looks over briefly and then away again, swallowing his bite before taking another.

“And you know what I’m thinking about?” he asks quietly, taking her faintly by surprise, but she hides it, crumpling up her wrapper before spreading it back out, looking over the white and blue label.

“Probably something about going off to be even more alone, push us away,” she replies, looking over. He keeps his eyes on the wall across the room. “Am I wrong?” she asks. His eyes shift down to the bar and he’s silent for a minute.

“I should leave the city,” he says, still quiet, then his brows furrow. “I shouldn’t have allowed myself to get attached,” he finishes, jaw clenching.

She keeps watching him and he glances over briefly before looking away again, thumbing the half of the protein bar still in his hand. “You know that’s impossible,” she says, “To completely isolate yourself. Even on Lian Yu, it was impossible. I know it seems like a good thing to do, I understand, and it is useful, but it’s no way to live.”

“I’m not trying to,” he says quieter.

“I know,” she replies, and he looks over. She’s still not wholly used to his green eyes, they’re so different from how they were, less like the reflection of sunlight on the ocean and more like the mirakuru: deeper, darker, less human. Artificial, in a way, which is appropriate, since that seems like what he’s trying to become. “You’re not a machine though, Oliver, and even dead, you have people that still care about you, whether you like it or not.”

His brows furrow again and he looks away, not petulant, but angry, frustrated. She stays where she is though for another few minutes and he doesn’t ask her to leave. She hopes that’s a good sign, but she can’t be sure.

Shado eventually gets to her feet and heads back over to her bag next to the cot at the back, and Oliver listens to her steps retreat, her breathing.

“ _You’re not a machine though, Oliver_.”

He was, for the League, for Ra’s. He’d felt more human then than he ever had, while simultaneously felt like nothing more than a blade, the simplicity to only need to follow a directive, complete a goal addictive. He was something that didn’t need thought or connection beyond his weapon sinking into a body, or strategy to get to his targets. But his resolve was weaker than he thought, if he couldn’t even bring himself to kill people from his past life that he hadn’t seen in five years, that he thought he’d completely cut himself off from.

He looks down at the bar again, brows drawing together.

He feels more human now, in a way, different from the League, enough that he worries about Thea-...his sister, his mother, enough that he’s still here instead of getting up and bolting out of the city, or out trying to hunt down all his List targets regardless of the police trying to get in his way. He’d hesitated with Detective Lance. Al Sah-him could have killed him, but now he’s…

He crushes the bar a little in his hand before easing up his grip.

He’s closer to weak Oliver Queen than he was before, but still isn’t _him_. No longer Al Sah-him, no longer Oliver Queen, no longer the Arrow or the son, the brother. He’s something else, something nebulous without form, something that can kill with the ease of a blade, but is weighed down by connection, wrapped in wire slowly getting tighter and tighter around his limbs and throat the longer he stays here, trying to tie him down. It’s easier when he’s focused on a target, a mission, he doesn’t have to think about anything outside of that. It’s...everything else that’s the problem.

“ _Why? Why are you doing all this? Because you feel responsible?”_

“ _Partly. I don’t understand the rest, and I’m not trying to.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_Slade pulls his glove off and then slowly reaches forward while Oliver’s heart beats faster, sucking in a breath when Slade’s warm, calloused palm grips the scar free side of his neck, thumb brushing his jaw._

_“You know,” is all Slade says, low and quiet and sure, as sure as the gaze locked on him._

He looks at the bar again for a minute and then takes the last bite, chewing and swallowing while he forces the memory away. Movement in his periphery catches his attention and he looks over, watches Slade’s son pull something out of the bag behind him on the table and turn around-

A sword.

Joe walks over to the League sword propped next to the cot and grabs it while Shado watches him, walking back. He tosses it once he’s close enough and Oliver catches it, eyes following Joe where he stops opposite him, ten feet away. Joe unsheathes his sword, a katana, and tosses the sheath aside, raising his blade.

“ _Well?_ ” Joe demands when he doesn’t move.

Oliver glances to Shado briefly, sees her standing tense next to the table, phone in her hand, and then back before slowly pushing to his feet.

“What are you doing?” Shado asks.

Joe’s brows lower. “My father could have been home four years sooner if it weren’t you,” he says, eyes fixed on Oliver, “He wouldn’t have lost his eye if it weren’t for you, and more, I imagine. Was the _mirakuru_ your fault too?”

Oliver’s lips flatten and he unsheathes his sword, tossing the sheath aside.

Joe’s expression hardens. “That’s what I thought.”

“You blame Oliver,” Shado says, eyes shifting between them.

Joe’s dark brows lower further and shifts his stance a little. “I don’t understand why my father is still here after everything you’ve done to him. You said he felt responsible,” he adds, glancing briefly to Shado, “But it’s gone past that. He’s been here too long. And if he won’t stop, I want to know _why_.” 

Joe and Oliver watch each other for a moment and then Joe runs forward, swinging his sword down sharply to the right. Oliver blocks the force easily, blades hitting, but presses his lips together and keeps quiet, shoving _back_ , Joe moving back with it so he doesn’t stumble. If Slade spoke with Joe, then he knows all he needs to. It’s not Oliver’s place to interfere. 

Joe’s eyes narrow a little as he gets into position, running at him again. Their blades hit and Oliver twists them down, shoving Joe back with his free hand, but Joe just twists and comes at him again and Oliver turns, blocking his sword aimed for his throat.

“Fight _back!_ ” Joe growls out, spinning low and aiming his blade for Oliver’s stomach, then up and around towards the back of his neck when Oliver blocks it. Oliver whips around and deflects it, forcing the strike up and away and huffing a breath at the punch Joe lands to his chest. It doesn’t hurt, doesn’t even really knock the wind out of him, but it’s unexpected. Joe’s eyes widen a little when he realizes how ineffective it was and then his brows lower again over angry eyes and he _snarls_ , like his father, swinging his sword harder, and Oliver blocks it again.

He’s not as fast as Slade, or as strong, and his movements are different, but they’re similar. The spins, the deflections, the swings, the footwork. The base forms are there, the same ones Slade taught him on the island. 

Oliver blocks another swing and jumps back from a kick, and Joe follows him through it, throwing a punch and swinging his sword from the left- then sharply changing direction and thrusting right, taking him by surprise. Oliver jerks his head to the side just in time, feels metal just barely skim the scar on his neck and barely gets his sword up in time to block the next attack when he smells fire and sea salt, rust, hears the ship’s metal groan as it tilts beneath his feet-

“ _What is going on?! We need to leave!”_

 _“Kid’s losing it!_ ”

 _He knows he is. **He knows he is**_ -

 _The rage consumes him like the fire slowly starting to consume the ship: his chest, his head, his limbs, struggling against the hold on him. He jerks his hand up and back, arrow plunging down into something soft, something it shouldn’t, something it was never supposed to. He feels Slade jerk back with a pained shout behind him and something slices up the side of Oliver’s chest, his head jerking as it goes up the side of his neck and cheek. The pain doesn’t register at first through the rage and shock, but then it soaks in just as the ship explodes and everything gets swept out and **burns**_ -

His foot gets swept out from under him and Oliver lands on his back with a huff of breath, staring dumbly up at the grey ceiling instead of the metal hull of the ship- Something sharp and silver catches the light as it comes down towards his right eye-

He jerks his head sharply to the side, hears metal hit cement next to his ear with a loud _CLANG_ , eyes wide, smells fire and sea salt again, feels water soaked into his clothes, hears Slade’s shout as Oliver’s arrow plunges into his eye, feels the burn up the side of his face, deep in his side. He hears something that might be a name shouted through an explosion, the screams of the men high on the mirakuru dying as he tears them apart, their blood covering his hands, his clothes, Ivo’s voice droning from his left as he cuts into him like _thing_ , pain worse than anything he’s ever-

His mind blanks as the memories crest and swell with the rage unfurling all over, burning him up like tinder, and he rolls to his feet with fire in his chest, running forward with a shout, knocks a sword out of the way and stabs his arrow forward towards wide blue eyes-

It’s deflected down sharply and a fist hits his jaw hard, sends him stumbling left, away. He whips his head around, breathing hard and teeth bared, vision slowly focusing on-

“ _Oliver!_ ” Slade barks, eyes hard and furious, and Oliver flinches, attention snapping back harshly like a rubberband pulled taut. The fire and sea salt slowly fade with the screams, the drenched feeling weighing down his clothes, and he stares at Slade dumbly for a minute, uncomprehending. Slade’s standing in front of him, not behind, the lighting is different, the walls are cement, Slade’s right eye is smokey white, not- The pain throughout his left side is a dulling ache, an echo, not fresh and sharp and _burning_ as his body tries to knit itself back together in the ocean. It-

Oliver slowly flicks his eyes over and finds- Joe. Joe Wilson, not Slade, not the Amazo or the prisoners or Ivo, not- He glances down, stares at the League sword in his hand, not a wooden arrow, and slowly drags his eyes up, then over from Joe’s wide ones, the sweat lightly coating his skin, to Slade standing in front of him, sword raised and ready to-

 _Protect him from you_ , his mind whispers, truth like a bell and hitting him right in the chest.

Slade’s watching him close like Oliver’s a bomb that might go off, _**did**_ _go off_ -

 _Slade’s gaze lands back on him._ “ _Don’t kill anyone_.”

He was going to-

Oliver sucks in a sharp breath when his lungs protest him holding it with too much adrenaline pumping in his veins, takes another and tries to slow his rabbit heart. He slowly clenches his jaw, hand tightening around his sword hilt as the adrenaline and _emotions_ roller coaster through him and he moves, ignores Slade and Joe tensing and stabs his sword down into the cement floor with his _anger_ and _guilt_ and a sharp _CRACK_.

“I told you this was a mistake!” he snaps out towards Slade before running straight for the tarp over the window. He manages to get out and away from the factory without anyone stopping him, calling after him, picking up speed until he’s a blur sprinting through alley after alley, twists and turns as he heads deeper into the Glades, letting himself get lost.

Slade watches the tarp settle back over the window, grip tightening on his sword. He turns sharply towards Joe. “ _What happened?_ ” he growls out.

“I-” Joe stops, takes a breath to steel himself and swallows the curl of fear still lingering in his chest and glares back, “I wanted to know _why_ you’re still here.”

“ _I told you_ -” Slade starts.

“That you felt responsible, _I know_ ,” Joe cuts him off, “But it’s _more than that_. I don’t know what it is, but it’s more, so I-”

“So you thought fighting an unstable League agent with super strength was the way to find your answer?” Slade growls, anger spiking.

“It’s what _you’ve_ done, isn’t it?” Joe demands louder.

“I’m _enhanced!_ ” Slade shouts, rounding on him fully, “With far more training! Oliver could have killed you! Would have if Shado hadn’t alerted me!” He points over at where Shado’s standing next to the table near Felicity gripping her tablet tight, brows drawn together and bow in her hand, an arrow notched.

“I wasn’t-!” Joe cuts himself off, gritting his teeth and darting his eyes away. They land on the League sword- _buried in the cement_. 

No, that thought isn’t true. He didn’t have the upper hand. Oliver wasn’t trying to fight him, was just deflecting every attack Joe made. He didn’t try until Joe went for his eye, when Joe wanted to pay him back for-

He looks over again and his father’s angry, mismatched eyes stare back. His father glares at him another moment before sharply turning away and ripping Oliver’s sword _out of the floor_ like it’s nothing, heading over to grab the sheathe and sliding it sharply back in, stalking over to the table and slamming it down. Felicity jumps while Shado puts her arrow back in the quiver laying on the table and it’s quiet for a minute.

Felicity clears her throat, drawing all their eyes. “Um,” she says under all their stares, tension so high she wants to fidget like a newly hired intern, “He still has his phone on him...so, I can track him again. If you want.”

Slade’s eyes shift to Shado, then Joe, brows lowering angrily again when their eyes meet.

\-----

“ _You’re losing control_ ,” Ivo taunts.

“ _You **lost** control_ ,” Wintergreen adds with a smirk in his voice.

“ _You could’ve killed Slade’s son_ ,” Ivo continues with an insidious one in his, “ _You were going to_.”

“ _Too bad you didn’t_ ,” Wintergreen adds.

Oliver’s hands tremble faintly and he grips his head harder, curling the other hand in a tight fist in his lap below the bar counter, eyes squeezed shut.

“You look like you could use another round,” the bartender says, pouring more vodka in his glass. Oliver doesn’t look up, keeps his eyes closed behind his sunglasses and his face angled down, mostly hidden by his hood. He only looks long enough to grab the glass, throwing the whole thing back and swallowing before slamming the glass back down on the counter, hears it crack and lets go. He feels the bartender’s gaze on him and ignores it, holding his breath, waiting. Finally, the bartender just takes the glass away and sets another down, filling it up, and Oliver lets his breath out slow, a little shaky.

The alcohol doesn’t do anything, can’t unless he’s practically I.V.’d to it, but the burn down his throat is at least some distraction from the replay in his head, of Ivo and Wintergreen’s voices running him through. Because they’re right, he was going to kill Joe, Slade’s _son_ , the same son Slade spent _five years_ trying to get back to. Oliver could have destroyed that as easily as he destroys everything else in his life, all because he got caught up in memories-

He grabs the glass and downs the vodka again, setting the glass back on the bar with more control this time.

He can still smell the smoke and salt water, can still feel the burn of the pain sinking into his side from Ivo’s blade, from Slade’s, feel the world-splitting sting of the salt water rushing into the wounds before he’d blacked out from the pain. He hasn’t dreamed of the Amazo in years, he hasn’t gotten lost in a memory of it in about the same time. The League had taught him control, directed his emotions, but he’s-

“ _Kid’s losing it!_ ”

Oliver squeezes his eyes shut again and lowers his head a little more, gripping it over the hood.

 _He is_.

He makes himself take a breath, then another, and another, tries to focus and settle the shaking in his hands, his breathing. He’s worse than he thought. He thought he had more time to try and orient himself, come up with ways to channel his... _emotions_ , but he’s- 

He hears steps come up to his left and turns his head just enough to glance over, finds a woman with wavy brown hair in a tight blue dress and tall heels, red lips and smokey eyes. She looks him up and down and quirks her lips invitingly, slowly leaning against the bar like it’s a high end balcony instead of an old, scuffed wood counter polished as far as it still can be.

“You look like you could use more than a drink,” she says, low and sultry.

He frowns a little, but her words make his attention focus on something other than the mess in his head and he turns it a little more towards her, even though he has no interest. The only time he’s been interested has been-

He stills, focusing on her more.

He can’t keep going back to Slade. He shouldn’t have in the first place. It’s only increasing his spiraling and now he almost-

“ _You’re losing control_.”

“ _You **lost** control_.”

“ _You could’ve killed Slade’s son_. _You were going to_.”

_“ **Oliver!** ”_

But maybe…

 _Maybe this will change it_ , he thinks, fingers curling. Maybe he’s just touch starved, and even if he isn’t, maybe this can derail the train he’s on enough that he _stops_ \- _losing_ _it_. Stops going back to Slade, stops giving in when Slade comes to him.

He makes himself get to his feet and her eyes spark, lips curving up a little more. She stands from the bar and turns, leading the way through it and out the front door, hips swaying, and Oliver makes himself follow, around the front of the building and after her into the alley on its left, trailing her almost halfway down. She turns to him and he lets her push him back against the brick wall once they’re deep enough, lets her lips press firmly to his. Her lipstick rubs across his mouth and his stomach squirms at the feel of it. He feels her hand slide down his front to the front of his pants and it squirms more. He reaches up and grips her arms, flipping them and pressing her back to the wall. She lets out a surprised sound and then practically _purrs_ , reaching a hand up for his hood-

He grabs her wrist and forces it down and she makes a considering sound as he pulls his head back, hungry amber eyes watching him. “No? And you have such pretty green eyes, too,” she purrs again, rolling her body against his as much as she can, the curves of her rubbing against the flat planes of him.

He ignores her and slots their mouths back together, lets his lips part so she can slip her tongue past them. She tastes like cigarettes and bourbon, and some other taste that must just be her, and Oliver tries not to think of the way Slade tastes, the strange, layered feeling of the familiarity of a woman against him and the vertigo of that being _strange_. 

He used to sleep with women all the time, flirting became more a game and formality than anything else; he did it so much it got _boring_. He never- not with a man, nothing more than kissed, barely risked touching. The first and only one he did more with before Slade tried to go to the press when he was sixteen. His father found out and paid them off, and then they had a Talk. There were expectations of the Queen family, even in their dalliances, and that wasn’t an exception to the rule. And Oliver just- stopped, stopped thinking about it, pushed it aside whenever it crossed his mind until he’d buried it, because the Queens were good at that, burying things, especially when it came to themselves. 

But Slade was- _is_ , different, and that’s a problem.

“Don’t think I’m complaining,” the woman says when their mouths part, pulling him out of his thoughts, “You don’t look like much, but I can _feel_ that you are.” She gropes at his soft cock through his pants and he clenches his jaw while she raises a brow. “You’re not turned on?” she teases low, letting go to hike the end of her tight dress up, “Let’s change that.”

Oliver’s lips pinch and he tries to focus, lets her pull him closer even though he wants to pull away, shifts his leg up so she can ride his thigh, tries to focus on the sound of her breathy moans muffled against his mouth, her thin fingers gripping his arm, nails sliding down his shoulder to his back. It’s familiar but another lifetime ago, _strange_. He doesn’t- 

She groans and all he can hear is Slade’s, the sound of Slade’s breaths near his ear, feel the way Slade’s cock slid between his thighs, the firm grip on his jaw with a wider hand, the brush of Slade’s calloused thumb against it, the slide of Slade’s tongue in his mouth, trying to search every inch of it-

 _He stabs forward towards wide blue eyes_ -

The woman moans again, grinding down hard against his thigh and Oliver rips himself away, is up on the roof and running from the alley before she can even blink or he can think about it. He runs like he did earlier, hard and fast, doesn’t know where he’s going, doesn’t care, just tries to leave all his ghosts behind and get _away,_ especially from himself.

\-----

“I hate to interrupt all the brooding,” Felicity says, breaking the tense quiet, shifting her eyes from Slade brooding down by the window to Joe brooding against the wall by the table, and Shado frowning down at her phone. “But don’t you have a meeting with someone in a few minutes?” she asks pointedly towards Slade’s back. 

He looks over after a moment with a frown and pulls his phone out, checking it. She hears him curse quietly before turning and heading past the table to the cot, digging his gear and mask out and dropping his jacket on the cot with his keffiyeh before pulling his shirt up and off. 

Felicity snaps her eyes away, crossing her arms as her cheeks warm. “ _Really_ need to get a partition or something,” she mutters to herself.

Slade heads for the stairs once he’s done, slipping his bluetooth in before pulling his mask on over it. He looks back at the three of them, Joe keeping his eyes down, Shado and Felicity looking back, before taking the stairs up out of the basement. Felicity takes a seat in front of her laptop and taps her bluetooth line open.

\--

Roy checks his phone again, screen lighting up like a beacon in his face. He squints a little, reading the time before pocketing it (again).

 _12:05_. 

Maybe it was all a trick. Maybe he’s not actually going to sho-

“Your back is exposed,” a rough voice says low behind him and Roy jumps hard, whipping around with wide eyes while his heart hammers in his ears.

“ _Oh, it’s you_ ,” he breathes, slumping and gripping the front of his hoodie. Ghost doesn’t say anything, just stands there, black against the black of the night sky, and Roy swallows, clearing his throat quietly. “So...I’m here,” he says lamely. Ghost still doesn’t say anything for a minute, just stares at him, and Roy tries not to shift under his scrutinizing gaze.

“Can you fight?” Ghost finally asks, breaking the quiet, and Roy gives a full body twitch.

“Yeah,” he answers quickly, “But it’s freestyle.”

“Show me,” Ghost says, and Roy hesitates. 

Ghost doesn’t say anything more, just watches him, waiting, and Roy takes a breath, brows lowering as he focuses, then runs. He throws a punch that gets blocked like a child threw it and spins down, bracing a hand on the floor as he throws a kick at the side of Ghost’s face, who leans back, avoiding it. Roy grits his teeth and twists, flipping another kick towards the other side of his face-

He ends up on his back on the roof with a _whoosh_ of breath knocked out of him at the impact, staring dumbly up at the stars while his back starts to dully ache. Ghost slowly leans over him from above, one eye focused on him. “Not a bad place to start,” Ghost says idly. 

Roy blinks, then frowns. “I feel like you’re insulting me.”

Ghost just shrugs and straightens back up.

Roy turns and rolls to his feet, looking up at him. “So...does that mean you’ll help me?”

Ghost watches him for a long moment and then points over at a roof a few away. “That roof, tomorrow night. Same time.” 

Roy looks over then back, heart beating faster with hope and anticipation. He swallows and nods. Ghost turns to go and Roy watches him leave, blinking when he just- _jumps over the side of the building_. Roy runs and looks over the edge, staring when he finds- nothing, looking around. Only when he’s sure he’s alone does he let himself hyperventilate a little.

 _Holy shit_ -

And then he pauses as a thought hits him, frowning. 

_Wait, wasn’t Ghost seriously shot just a few days ago? How did he-_

\-----

Slade follows the GPS instructions Felicity sent into a warehouse, looking around, eye shifting up when he finds nothing on the wide open ground floor. He finds Oliver sitting high up in the shadows on the catwalk, one knee pulled up and the other leg hanging over the edge, a black shape in the dark. Slade studies him for a moment before letting out a low whistle, something they used to do to alert each other on the island. Oliver’s head shifts up and turns, green eyes finding him, glowing softly up in the pitch. They watch one another for a long minute before Oliver eventually shifts forward, dropping over the side of the catwalk and landing in a crouch on the ground, slowly standing back up. “What are you doing here?” he asks quietly.

Slade pulls his mask off, pulling his bluetooth out and shutting it off before pushing both into his pockets. “You keep running, and I keep having to chase you,” he answers gruffly.

Oliver’s lips twist, eyes shifting to the side then back. “I told you this was a mistake. I almost-”

“You didn’t mean to attack Joe,” Slade cuts him off. Because it’s not hard to figure out what happened. Joe pushed too far and Oliver snapped. As little as Slade was around, Joe must’ve gotten that from him.

Oliver’s quiet for a minute, then, “I’m sorry,” he says, voice tight.

“I know,” Slade replies, his own fingers curling at his sides, “But I can’t forgive you.” Because he understands, but when it’s his son’s life at stake, anything said is an excuse. It doesn’t matter who started the fight, he went out on a limb trusting Oliver alone with Joe and Oliver nearly killed him.

“Then why are you here?” Oliver asks after a moment.

“Because there are exactly three people in this world I refuse to leave behind, and you’re one of them,” Slade answers.

Oliver fingers curl as his brows draw together, and he takes a breath. “I’m losing control,” he says. 

“Then relearn it,” Slade replies.

“It’s not that _simple_ ,” Oliver snaps, fists tightening, “It took me _two years_.” And he loses it around Slade so- _easily_. 

They stare at one another.

“Are you so weak that you won’t even _try?_ ” Slade grinds out.

“I don’t have that kind of _time!_ ” Oliver bites back, “What the League did took-”

“And I told you!” Slade shouts back, cutting Oliver off, anger snapping as he steps closer, “The League isn’t real! That ‘control’ isn’t real! _You_ ran away!” he accuses, pointing a finger at him, and Oliver’s eyes widen, “And you’re trying to run away now! Own up and face your own weaknesses!”

Oliver stares, eyes searching Slade’s. They’re angry, but _sure_. Oliver hasn’t been that sure of anything lately, nothing except the need to put a stop to whatever they’re doing because it-

He swallows. 

No. Maybe Slade’s right and that’s...that’s just a symptom.

Slade walks closer and Oliver’s heartbeat picks up. He grits his teeth at himself, watches the distance fade between them as a weight forms in his chest, his gut, weighing him to the spot. Slade stops a foot away and Oliver holds his stare, trying to keep his gaze from averting under the weight of Slade’s. “I tried to kill your _son_ ,” Oliver says, raw and _angry,_ at himself, at Slade, at all of this. Slade’s expression darkens. “I was _going_ to kill him. I would have, if you hadn’t been there. We-”

“‘We’ aren’t the problem,” Slade cuts in ruthlessly, “ _You_ running away for four years is.”

Oliver stops, struggling to-

He closes his eyes firmly, brows drawing together. 

_He **is** right_ , Oliver thinks, and it- _twists_ his insides up, realizing how _weak_ he is. He thought he was stronger, he thought he was better than this, had conquered himself like Ra’s taught him, but he almost killed an innocent man a few hours ago because he got caught up in his own memories, and- with the woman, too. That was him running away.

“I tried to sleep with someone,” he says, looking at Slade again. Slade’s jaw tightens, brows drawing lower, but he doesn’t say anything and Oliver continues, anger rising at himself again, at Slade, _frustrated_ , “I couldn’t. I _hate_ that I _couldn’t!_ I _hate_ that all I could think about was-” He cuts himself off and Slade keeps quiet, a wall Oliver can’t ever seem to push or get away from. Slade’s always there, even when he isn’t, accusing him, confronting him, making him confront himself. “I don’t-” Oliver cuts off again, anger flickering and gutting out against the _hopelessness_ , sinking down into him like the ocean, vast and deep. “ _I don’t know what to do_ ,” he forces out, raw and painful, like broken glass cutting up his throat, grinding against open wounds.

“I told you,” Slade says, steady and firm against Oliver’s overturning tides and jagged edges, “Stop running.” Slade’s hand comes up and grips the side of his neck over the scar, rubs a gloved thumb along the edge of it and Oliver’s eyes slip shut, just briefly, just one more weakness on top of the pile. “ _Face it_ ,” Slade orders.

“But what I did to-” Oliver stops, swallowing the guilt.

Slade leans closer, holding his stare. “You ever try to kill Joe again and I will do more than block your sword,” he says firmly, dangerously low, gripping the side of Oliver’s neck tighter, “If you were anyone else, I would have. Do you understand?”

Oliver stares back, sees the resolve in his eye, and nods. “Yes,” he answers quietly, “I understand.” Slade would have killed him, could have, with the state Oliver was in. It would have been easy with him swinging his sword around like a child with no thought or control.

Slade rubs his thumb over Oliver’s jaw again. “I can’t forgive you for what you did, but I told you, I might be the only one who understands.” The way their pasts swallow them up, burn them from the inside and then drag them down to drown below, chains around their ankles, the way the mirakuru amplifies it and makes it worse. It’s a wonder either of them are still breathing, are as sane as they are when everything is so- _consuming,_ the good, and the bad.

Oliver presses his lips together, clenching his jaw and staring back. Slade’s gaze is so heavy, feels like it’s sinking him to the floor, feels like it’s looking through him, sees _everything_ and it’s- too much. But Slade keeps studying him for a long moment before slowly leaning close, pausing just shy of their lips touching, watching him, waiting to see what he’ll do. Oliver’s fingers curl and uncurl at his sides before he slowly reaches up and grips at Slade’s kevlar, leaning forward the rest of the way and kissing him, a promise, an understanding, and...something else, something Oliver still doesn’t want to look at. He doesn’t want to know what it is. Maybe that’s him running away again, but he’ll deal with it later.

His lips part after a minute and Slade’s tongue slides across his own, and Oliver sucks on it, grips Slade’s kevlar tighter at the low rumble it gets him against his chest as Slade steps closer, pressing him back against the steel pillar behind him. The kiss turns harder, rougher, Slade pushing his head back against the metal. Oliver spreads his legs a little and Slade’s thigh immediately slips between them, pressing up. Oliver sucks in a breath through his nose, remembers the woman, is angry at himself for- _responding_ , the way his cock hardens-

“ _Stop running_.”

Oliver stills and Slade pulls back enough to look at him, gripping Oliver’s hip in his other hand and tightening his hold on it. “What about the woman?” Oliver asks quietly, eyes down on Slade’s chin. He makes himself look up and Slade stares steadily back, watching him, always watching him.

“How did you kiss her?” Slade asks, tone neutral and expression unreadable.

Oliver presses his lips together for a few moments and then leans forward and kisses him again, lets Slade’s tongue slip into his mouth while he drags his fingers down Slade’s arm over his armor, claws the other ones over Slade’s shoulder to his back like the woman had with him, and- grinds his hips down against Slade’s unyielding thigh.

Slade pushes him roughly back against the pillar while his tongue thoroughly explores Oliver’s mouth, pushes Oliver’s own tongue up before sucking on it with a low growl. Oliver lets his hand slide up to grip the side of Slade’s neck, up higher to his jaw, feels it move under his hand as they kiss and part of him still wants to pull away, recoil, can’t stand what he’s doing, but the rest makes his hips grind down against the hard muscle of Slade’s unforgiving thigh again, groans quietly in the back of his throat at the pain-pleasure it sparks up his spine, and shudders a little at Slade’s growl rumbled against his chest, muffled into his mouth.

Slade reaches up, pulls his hood down and then grips his hair and tugs his head back sharply, mouth sliding down Oliver’s jaw to the scar, follows it down to his neck and bites either side of it. Oliver sucks in a breath, grips onto him tighter and rolls his hips. Slade’s thigh grinds up almost painfully and Oliver groans again, rougher, sucks in a ragged breath when Slade sucks around the scar on his throat, stubble rubbing against the sensitive skin either side of it. Slade’s mouth disappears after a minute and Oliver gets his eyes open. 

Slade stares back, the anger still there but with that something else. Slade drops down before Oliver can clear his head enough to think about it and he quickly gets Oliver’s pants open, shoving them down a bit and taking his cock out in a gloved hand, the texture and cool air making Oliver shudder.

“What are you doing?” he asks roughly, eyes focused down on Slade, the way his black glove stands out against the pale skin of his cock. Slade looks back up at him, drawing a gloved finger lightly up to the tip. Oliver shudders, cheeks flushing as his cock leaks and he pants quietly, swallowing. Slade doesn’t answer, just drops his eyes and leans forward, sucking the head of Oliver’s cock into his mouth. Oliver’s eyes slam shut as he groans, grips the shoulders of Slade’s armor tight while his hips jerk. It’s so- _much_ so quickly. Slade’s other hand pushes his hips back to the pillar and his mouth moves- _lower_ , takes more of him in and it’s so- _hot, slick_ and _wet_ and _**hot**_ , _**too hot**_ , _mind numbingly_ -

Slade’s wet mouth slides down on him and Oliver’s thoughts, his anger, his frustration, his guilt fly out the window on wings too fast for him to catch. Teeth just lightly skim along the skin of his cock and Oliver groans louder, pushing his head back against the pillar while his grip tightens on Slade’s armor, legs parting a little more. Slade’s mouth keeps moving, pulls back to the head and then slides halfway back down, pulls back, repeats it with slick sounds that seem loud in the huge, empty warehouse until he stops to suck hard at the head, tongue swirling firmly around it. Oliver moans, the sound punched out of him, sucks in a sharp breath when Slade tongues at the slit. Oliver’s mouth drops open as pants harder, pleasure tingling and building hard and quick at the base of his spine. He’s not going to last-

“ _S-Slade_ ,” he chokes out, sound curving into a strangled groan when Slade slides back _down_ , taking him in again. The fingers on his hip curl, grip it bruisingly tight while the other moves down beneath his cock and massages his balls, Slade careful of the friction of his gloves, and then it’s over, the heat spikes at the base of Oliver’s spine, below his gut and he comes with a half-shout, back arching against the pillar. Slade pins his hips again and keeps Oliver’s cock in his mouth. 

The pleasure slowly fades as he softens and drags him back down enough that Oliver can smell the warehouse again, the dirt and rust, hear his own wild breaths and the sound of Slade spitting a few times before getting to his feet. Oliver stares at him through hazy eyes, legs shaking a little. Slade leans close and kisses him roughly, thoroughly, and Oliver’s cock gives a twitch at the salty taste on his tongue, familiar; he hasn’t tasted himself in anyone’s mouth in years. 

Oliver kisses him harder, drags his tongue firmly along Slade’s. Slade pulls back after a minute and grips his hips, turning him around, and Oliver braces his forearms against the pillar and listens past the thump of his heart in his ears, hears a belt come undone, a zipper, shuffling. His heart beats harder. Then he feels Slade’s cock push up between his cheeks, hard and hot, precum slipping against his skin. It feels as strange, different, and foreign as last time, the way it rocks between his cheeks, against his skin. The head catches briefly on his rim and Oliver sucks in a breath, groans quietly, cheeks hot, and Slade’s teeth find his neck above his hoodie, biting a bruising kiss into the side of it while Oliver tilts his head and reaches back, gripping onto Slade’s armor. Slade’s hips rock harder, faster, hands dragging from his hips to press his ass cheeks together either side of his cock as he rocks, panting roughly against the side of Oliver’s neck. Oliver grips onto his kevlar tighter as his body rocks with force of Slade’s thrusts, letting go with one hand to reach around and stroke his own cock, already growing hard. Slade growls low against the side of his neck and grips his ass harder, thrusts faster, hips snapping against his ass as Oliver pants, strokes himself faster and harder to match him.

Slade drags his mouth up and comes with a rough groan against his jaw and Oliver follows him over the edge, balls tightening as Slade’s cum hits his lower back and Slade thrusts through it against him, Oliver moaning just as rough and low as he shudders. Slade leans forward, pressing Oliver’s chest to the pillar with his weight while they both pant, try to catch their breath. It reminds Oliver of last night and he tries to ignore the interest curling low in his gut again, focusing instead on his breathing. Something swells in his chest, slow and warm, vaguely familiar, and he ignores it too.

Slade eventually pulls back and Oliver sags a little against the pillar briefly before making himself straighten and pull back too, getting his eyes open and looking down at where his cum is drying on the rusted metal. He turns around as he pulls his pants up, ignores the strange sticky feeling of Slade’s cum slowly drying beneath the back of his pants and hoodie. He zips himself up as Slade does the same, watching him back, then Slade steps close, backs him up against the pillar again and kisses him. Oliver reaches up and grips at his armor again, sucking at his tongue, his lower lip, _lets_ himself.

“Stopped running?” Slade asks low and rough when he pulls back a little, that weighted gaze back on him.

Oliver grips his armor tighter, holds onto it as the recoil surfaces again, the want to push him- _shove_ him away, get out of the warehouse, the city. He clenches his jaw against it, pulls Slade closer and kisses him roughly instead, stubble scratching against his skin and sending a faint shudder down his spine. “I don’t want to do this,” Oliver breathes when they break, that _something_ in his chest twisting and _aching_. He tightens his grip again and drops his forehead to the side of Slade’s neck as the hopelessness sinks down into him again, makes him feel like he’s _drowning_. “I don’t want to stop,” he whispers. A hand comes up and grips the back of his head, keeping him there. Oliver still wants to pull away, wants to push Slade away, and clenches his jaw again. He stays quiet, where he is, lifting his head a little after a minute, cheek brushing the side of Slade’s neck. “This isn’t going to work, Slade,” he whispers, brows drawing together. _It never does_.

Slade tightens his grip. “I’m a little harder to kill than before,” he says, low and quiet.

Oliver holds onto him tighter, has to stop his grip from denting Slade’s armor, throat going tight. “I don’t-” He cuts himself off.

 _I don’t want to kill you_. But he’s said that already, and Slade stayed, is still here, even after Oliver nearly killed his son. He doesn’t deserve it. Slade should leave. He should-

Oliver’s fingers curl tighter. “ _Slade-_ ” He stops again, voice hoarse and backs of his eyes starting to sting. The tears well too fast for him to try to stop and Slade pulls him closer. “ _I_ -” Oliver chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut, feels- too open, _hates it_.

He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, he doesn’t know how to say it, just that there’s a huge, swelling ache in his chest full of too many things, things Al Sah-him shouldn’t feel, things Oliver Queen doesn’t really understand, too complicated, too simple, all of it a mess. It’s too much, _it’s too much_. It’s just-

 _You’re important to me_ , he thinks quietly, almost desperately, like a child, pulling Slade closer, _I don’t want you to leave_. Even though someday, like the rest of the people important to him in his life, Oliver’s going to get him killed.

He presses his forehead down against Slade’s shoulder while his shoulders tremble, the flood trying to wash him out to sea while Slade holds onto him, like an anchor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler Warnings: Oliver tries to sleep with a woman to basically attempt to put a stop to his _things_ with/for Slade. They don't actually get their clothes off and he's really not turned on at all but there is some grinding on her part.


	24. I’m better when I’m with you, but that’s better left unsaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONCE AGAIN this chapter tried getting longer but I managed to chop it at its knees this time >8/

Thea rounds the corner, heading down the hall towards her mother’s room. She rubs at her eyes again, then her temples, trying to stave off the tension headache she can feel coming. She finally managed to calm down last night after the police and that A.R.G.U.S. woman left. Tommy even stayed and sat with her on the couch and they watched a dumb movie like they used to, like- like _normal_ people. _God_ , she hasn’t felt normal in over a _week_ now. It’s been one thing after another: her brother, her mother, the police task force, now the A.R.G.U.S. agent, the _assassin, Wilson_. She just needs-...

She sighs, looking up and dropping her hands.

Her mother and her might not be on the best terms right now, but maybe Laurel was right about talking. Maybe her mother will tell her the truth now that they’re not pressed for time in dealing with an _assassin_ going after Oliver.

Thea slows to a stop, raising her hand to knock on her mother’s half open right door, the left one shut, when she catches the sound of her mother’s voice and freezes.

“ _My **daughter** found your assassin dead in our **woods**_ ,” Moira says quietly, voice hushed and angry.

Thea stares at the polished wood, listening intently as she slowly lowers her hand.

“ _No, I don’t know who did it, or why. I don’t_ -” A pause, then Moira continues firmly, “ _If it was one of the vigilantes, Thea doesn’t know anything about it._ ”

 _She’s lying_ , Thea thinks distantly through the static, _And she’s lying to the person who sent_ - _...?_

“ _Another one?_ ” Moira’s voice asks skeptically, then another pause. “ _You’re not having him watch our house again are you?_ ” she demands. A pause. “ _Yes, I’m aware the vigilante saved her a few times but that doesn’t mean-_ ” She stops. “ _Malcolm, if you get my daughter hurt_ -” she continues quieter, harder.

‘ _Malcolm’?!_ Thea thinks, wide eyes searching the wood, _Tommy’s…? It has to be. How many ‘Malcolm’s are even in Starling? Does Tommy know? He was just here_ -

A _sigh_ pulls her out of her thoughts. 

“ _Yes, I understand. Yes. Yes. **Goodbye**_ ,” Moira ends firmly.

Thea hears steps and jolts back, quickly and quietly darting back down the hall and around the corner, heading for the stairs. She jerks to a sharp stop when she nearly runs smack into Diggle coming up them, wide eyes jumping up.

His brown ones stare back down, widened a fraction, still looking worn out like he’s seemed all morning, but surprised too. “Ms. Queen,” he greets, collecting himself first, “Ready to go?”

Thea blinks, staring up at him dumbly while her mind tries to switch gears. “Uh. Yeah,” she replies, shaking herself a little. He frowns a bit and she tries to come up with something. “Just forgot I had to call a friend before work.” She darts around him and stops when he says-

“You’re already ten minutes late. That’s why I came to get you.”

Her head whips around, eyes wide. She runs for her room to grab her purse before darting back out, running ahead of him down the stairs and listening to him jog behind her to catch up. She’ll just have to send a text-

Wait.

She pauses out the door on the house’s front steps, jolting back into movement when Diggle moves ahead around her and opens his car’s back door where it’s parked at the bottom. She quickly jogs the rest of the way down and gets in, barely paying attention as she buckles her seatbelt and he shuts the door, getting in after and starting the car.

Maybe she _shouldn’t_ tell Wilson. If she tells him that Tommy’s father might be the one who hired the assassin to- to _shoot her brother_ , which doesn’t even make _sense_ , why would he-...But if she tells Wilson, won’t he just...

She swallows, shifting her eyes up to the side window and watching the trees lining the road pass by.

...What if Wilson tries to kill him? She can’t be responsible for that again, and she doesn’t even have any solid proof it _is_ Malcolm Merlyn except her mother saying his name during a weird phone call she overheard. But maybe he’d just look into it if she said she had a suspicion instead?

She worries her lower lip while she thinks, brows furrowing.

\-----

“So how does the great ‘Ra’s al Ghul’ teach control?” Slade asks, voice a little strained as he does another chin up.

Oliver’s eyes dart up from where he’s sharpening his sword on his knees in front of the table, looking across the room. Slade’s doing chin ups with the bar up near the window, the same chinups he used to do in the fuselage, legs straight out in front of him like he’s sitting in the air. He’s wearing a tank top this time, at least, not that that’s much better than being shirtless, with as form fitting as it is. 

Shado left a few minutes ago, said something about ‘taking a walk to get some air and food’. Oliver got the feeling she left to give him and Slade privacy. He’s not sure how he feels about her knowing about them, since she seems to, between the playful taunts and looks she’s been sending his way. Though he’s not sure _how_ she knows, since neither him nor Slade are the type to tell and they haven’t been broadcasting it...have they?

Joe hasn’t shown up yet. Apparently he didn’t arrive with Slade and Shado. 

Oliver pushes those thoughts back out of his mind while he absorbs the guilt at the latter.

Slade pauses and looks back expectantly with his mismatched eyes and chin up above the bar.

Oliver drops his own back down to his sword, brows drawing together and mouth twisting a little while he thinks. He starts sharpening it again on the wet stone he borrowed from Shado before stopping for a second time. “He takes our names,” Oliver starts, straightening up and looking across at Slade again, “He says that’s who we were, that we are not that person anymore. We discard our previous identity during a three week initiation trial under the influence-”

“Of an ancient herb,” Slade finishes for him, making Oliver pause. Slade lowers then pulls himself back up, doing another chin up. “Sara told us when you were out in the cage.”

Oliver’s lips twist a little again and Slade shrugs as much as he can in the position he’s in, jerking his chin in a ‘go on’ gesture before doing another chin up. 

“Did she tell you I killed you, too?” Oliver asks. Slade nods and Oliver presses his lips together while something _twists_ in his chest, looking back down at his sword. 

He can still remember it. The man didn’t fight like Slade, but he looked like Slade, sounded like him, said the same accusing words Oliver’s heard the past four years, gave him the same accusing glares. And Oliver killed him without hesitation, drove the same sword he’s sharpening into his heart.

He starts sharpening it again, focusing on that instead of the quiet from Slade’s end of the room. “It’s the final test of our initiation,” he continues, “Total separation from our previous conscience. It has no place in the black and white world we- the League, live in. There are people who need to die for the sake of good, and there are innocents.” Oliver lifts his sword to study the sharpness of the blade, lightly brushing the pad of his thumb across the edge before lowering it back to the stone and turning it over to work on the other side. “Innocent lives are never to be taken, not without League approval.”

“And all the people you’ve killed since coming here?” Slade asks, not accusing but curious, back to his chin ups, “The names in your father’s book?”

“None of them are innocent,” Oliver says lower, brows dropping as he looks up, “I did my research. You killed some of them, too.” Slade pauses briefly then jerks his chin again and Oliver continues, dropping his eyes back to his sword. It’s almost comforting to have it in his hands again, doing something familiar. They all take care of the weapons in the training rooms, and their own. He hasn’t parted with his sword in a while, since rarely anyone’s capable of taking it from him. “After the initiation is over, the true training begins. My training was different. Ra’s took to me personally. He didn’t train me all the time, I still trained with others, it was part of helping me gain control of the mirakuru, but he trained me one on one more than anyone else, save Nyssa.”

And Oliver feels guilt for leaving the League for that especially. Ra’s was his teacher, his mentor, his...not his father, but Slade was right when he called him a father figure. He was for four years. He was strict and hard but endlessly patient, different from Robert, different from Slade or Shado or Yao Fei, but Ra’s was still someone trying to help him, teach him how to survive in the world he’d chosen to join.

Oliver’s eyes dart up when Slade’s feet hit cement, looking up to find Slade studying him. “So he knows about the mirakuru,” Slade says, and Oliver nods. Slade’s expression turns thoughtful. “Can you get close enough to kill him, if you had to?”

Oliver’s hands still and his sword stops on the stone. He drops his eyes to it, searching the shine of the water on the metal. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly, swallowing a little before focusing on the other half of that, the side not- connected to his feelings about the idea. “Ra’s is over six-hundred years old, and the League is even older. He hasn’t ruled that long because he allows himself to be vulnerable, and the League hasn’t been around even longer because of weaknesses. Even if I was closer to him than most others before, that’s changed, now.” He looks back up, finds Slade’s eyebrows raised high before they lower again. “Either he thinks I’m dead, or he knows I’m still here. Either way, he’ll come for me eventually, and he will not trust me when he finds me alive.”

Slade’s expression hardens and he looks over at the wall, settling his hands on his hips. “Do you have a way to contact Sara and find out when he’s coming?” he asks, looking back.

Oliver sits up again, frowning a little. “A few, but once I use them, they’re gone. We shouldn’t squander them. Nyssa might warn me, too.”

Slade nods, looking over at the wall in thought again before looking at the ground and dropping forward into push ups. Oliver watches the way his muscles shift, the ease with which he does them. “He’s wrong,” Slade says after a minute, making Oliver’s attention snap back, “No matter how much distance you put between who you were and who you are, it doesn’t erase what you were before.”

Oliver’s lips pinch and he looks back down at his sword.

“It’d be convenient if you could,” Slade continues, voice faintly strained from the push ups, “But it doesn’t work, not in the long run. You need to accept what you’ve done, what you were, and then you can be who you are. You _are_ Oliver Queen, you are ‘Al Sah-him’, the son of a wealthy couple and a League assassin, a kid who was stranded in hell for five years. You tried to kill your sister and your mother, and you failed, and now you’re here.”

Oliver swallows, heart beating a little harder in his chest as Slade lists those off so easily, calmly, as facts. He looks up when Slade shifts in his periphery, watching him stand back up. “You make it sound easy,” Oliver says.

Slade scoffs quietly, stretching an arm up and down behind his back, pulling on his elbow with the other. “It’s one of the hardest things to do,” he replies, eyes on him, “But after you get over it, it feels easier than it seemed.”

“And _you_ accept who you are?” Oliver asks, studying him back.

Slade switches arms, still watching him. “I’m working on it,” he answers, “But I’m farther along than you are.” He lets his arms go and lowers them, rolling his shoulders out. His eyes drop to Oliver’s sword before shifting back up and quirking a brow. “That thing sharp enough for a fight yet?”

Oliver frowns a little and looks down at his sword, huffing a quiet breath and getting to his feet before bending down to grab the stone and set it back on the table behind him. “Are you sure fighting’s a good idea?” he asks quietly, grip tightening around his sword hilt while he grimaces a little. He can still see Joe’s eyes when he closes his, when he doesn’t, wide and scared that he’s going to die, can still feel the echoes of the rage that had consumed him, distant, but there, just like the memories. Oliver closes his eyes firmly and then opens them, trying to focus on the present.

“You won’t learn to control yourself if you don’t practice,” Slade replies, walking over and stepping close, reaching for both of his own swords where they’re resting on the table, chest brushing against Oliver’s back. Oliver’s heart beats faster as he stills at the warmth emanating from right behind him through his hoodie, the way his senses zero in on Slade like a beacon. 

Slade leans closer, chest pressing a little more into his back, and rumbles low in his ear, breath ghosting across it, “We’re not doing that kind of training.” Oliver shudders a little, eyes sliding shut without his permission. He forces them back open when he feels Slade’s bodyheat pull away, turning his head to watch Slade walk further down the room. Slade twirls both swords in his hands as he turns to face him and lower himself into position, smirking.

Oliver’s brows lower and he stares back, setting his sword down on the table. He unzips his hoodie and pulls it off, dropping it on the table before grabbing up his sword again and walking over, ignoring Slade’s slightly raised brow and roaming eyes, the heat Slade’s gaze leaves across his skin. He did laundry early this morning before most of the city was awake, but his shirt was still wet when he left, so he didn’t bother with it. But if Slade’s going to try and distract him, the least Oliver can do is try and distract him back.

Oliver raises his sword up to the side, near the opposite side of his face as he lowers his center of gravity down, free hand extending down and out in front of him as he focuses on his opponent. Slade’s smirk fades as his expression evens out with his own focus, and then the room fills with just the sounds of their quiet breaths, _in, out, in, out_. 

Slade’s left foot shifts a fraction and they both run, swinging their swords at each other.

\-----

Diggle pulls into a spot against the curb near C.N.R.I., putting the car in park and shutting the engine off. Thea doesn’t get out right away and he glances up in the rearview mirror, sees her staring distractedly out the back window. He debates with himself for a minute before deciding to say it now, what’s been bouncing around in the gloom of his head since Felicity texted him last night and he saw the news this morning.

“I heard about what happened yesterday,” he says, turning to look back at her over the bench seat. Her eyes snap forward out of her daze, blinking a little. He can see the moment she realizes what he’s talking about, the way her shoulders hunch inwards and her eyes shift down and away, shrinking in on herself. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he continues gentler, “You should never have had to go through something like that, especially alone.”

She takes a breath then blows it out, glancing up. “You’ve...seen dead bodies before?”

“Believe it or not, I was a soldier before this,” he answers, “Did two tours in Afghanistan. So yeah, I’ve seen my share.”

Thea’s mouth pinches and she drops her eyes again, then looks over at the C.N.R.I. building. “I can still see it- _him_ , when I close my eyes,” she says quieter, voice almost a croak, “I can still see that dog. I can still _smell it_.” Her expression scrunches in a grimace and Diggle feels a _pang_ of guilt. He wanted Deadshot dead, but he didn’t want a teenage girl to be the one to find him, especially the one he was supposed to be looking after.

He debates with himself again before coming to a decision and saying, “He was probably trying to protect you.”

Her eyes shift back. “Who?”

“The vigilante,” Diggle answers, steady gaze holding her uncomprehending one. Her eyes slowly widen as his words register and she jerks forward, quickly unbuckling her seatbelt when it stops her and pressing up against the back of the bench seat.

“You _know_ him?” she demands, wide, incredulous eyes searching his.

Diggle looks away, checking around the car out the windows before looking back, turning a little more towards her to keep their conversation as private as possible. Someone might be listening, someone might be reading lips. It never hurts to be too cautious. “Yeah, I know him. I know you know him, too,” he replies, voice hushed.

She stares at him for a long moment before blowing out a harsh breath and pushing herself back a little, fingers curling hard over the edge of the seat like claws. Her eyes dart back as her brows furrow. “ _How long?_ ” she demands, “Did he send you to _watch_ me?”

Diggle shakes his head. “No. I was actually your bodyguard first, before we...got in contact.”

Thea’s brows furrow more while she tries to process that. “So you helped him kill all those...people?” She stops, eyes widening, jerking forward again. “Have you seen my brother?” she asks, sharp and urgent and with a desperation so familiar it makes Diggle’s chest ache worse than it has the past day and a half.

He nods and her face crumples a bit. She grips the back of the seat so tight her knuckles go white, rims of her eyes starting to go red. “Do you know where he is? _How_ he is? _How is he? Is he okay?_ He was _shot_ -”

“I know,” Diggle cuts her off gently, raising a hand to try and calm her down, “He’s fine.” She lets out a rough breath, borderline sob, collapsing forward against the back of the seats. “He’s a lot tougher than he looks,” Diggle adds, lips twisting a little wryly. Thea blows out another breath and rests her forehead against the back of the seat, and Diggle’s heart twists again. “I know what it’s like to lose a brother,” he continues quieter. Her head lifts and her eyes find his again. “I promise, I’ll try to help you get yours back. The vigilante-”

“Wilson,” she cuts in quietly, watching him closely.

Diggle’s lips curl up a little. “Wilson, is trying. It’s been rocky, but...I think he’s slowly getting somewhere.”

Thea’s quiet for a couple minutes, eyes shifting down to the dashboard ahead before dragging back up. “Do you know what’s wrong with him?” she asks quieter, looking and sounding like she’s made of glass, like a child, small and vulnerable. And Diggle realizes all over again that she’s just a kid, one who’s missing her big brother.

“A few things,” Diggle answers vaguely, brows drawing together a little, “But we shouldn’t discuss it here.”

“You mean you’ll tell me?” she asks quickly, sitting up again, desperation bleeding through the cracks, “Wilson won’t tell me _anything_ , and even the woman who uses his phone sometimes is vague.”

“And for good reason,” Diggle replies, and her brows draw together. “Just trust me on that,” he continues, “The more we talk about it, the more likely things are to get out, and it won’t be good for anyone if that happens.”

Thea takes a breath and nods slowly, though she still looks confused, overwhelmed. Diggle can’t blame her.

“Now,” he says after giving her a few minutes, drawing her attention back as he sits up, “You’re almost an hour late.”

She jolts up, eyes widening. “Right. Laurel- Oh, god, she’s going to know about the assassin.” Thea drops her forehead back to the seat and Diggle watches her while he thinks.

“She doesn’t know anything, right?” he asks slowly.

“Not that I know of,” Thea replies, lifting her head again, eyes worried, “But I don’t know, and that’s making me _nervous_. She’s smart. I’m worried she’ll figure something out eventually. Has Ollie...visited her at all?”

Diggle shakes his head, then pauses, frowning. “I’m not actually sure, but Wilson hasn’t mentioned it, so I don’t think so. I get the feeling if she knew about your brother, we’d know.”

Thea nods a little, eyes going distant in thought. She shakes herself out of it and pulls back, grabbing her bag and making herself reach for the back door, pausing to look at him again. “ _Thank you_ ,” she says sincerely, “This has all been driving me _crazy_ , and with my mom being-...” 

She doesn’t continue and Diggle nods, actually manages to smile a little for the second time since finding out about Andy. Thea smiles a little back, looking a lot like he feels, worn ragged and trying to hold herself together. She pushes the back door open and steps out, closing it behind her and giving him a little wave as she passes the driver window.

Thea takes a breath as she pulls the door to C.N.R.I. open, trying to absorb and swallow down everything Diggle just told her. She still has questions, _so many questions_ , but- If she thinks about it here, Laurel _will know_ something’s up instead of just the dead body she found. She can only blame so much on it before it becomes unbelievable. 

She pauses in the building lobby, shuffling off to the side away from the few people in the waiting chairs and glancing over into the main room. Laurel’s frowning down at a file, glances over at her computer to tap at something, then looks down again, flipping up a page.

Thea takes another breath and squares her shoulders, tries to be content with just- having _some_ answers and the promise of more, and makes herself walk in. It takes a minute, but Laurel’s eyes eventually catch on her as she gets closer and she quickly pushes to her feet.

“ _Thea!_ ” Laurel lets out, “Are you alright?” she asks urgently, coming around their desks and reaching for her shoulder, “I heard about what happened, the body you found.” Thea shudders a little under her hand and Laurel’s brows draw together as her grip tightens.

“I’m- Yeah,” Thea answers, closing her eyes and shaking her head a little. “Yeah, I’m-...Honestly, I just want to work so I can stop thinking about it,” she sighs, looking back up. That’s true, at least.

“Okay,” Laurel replies, trying for a smile before guiding Thea over to their desks.

The report Laurel read didn’t say much about the body Thea found, just that it was some burglar. The fact that they’re keeping it pretty quiet though, and that Thea found him, means the vigilante might have been involved somehow. She doesn’t have any solid proof, but when she lines up the information with what she knows and what’s already happened, it seems likely. She’ll have to ask her father before she meets Tommy for dinner tonight.

She looks worriedly over at Thea while Thea takes a seat at her desk, takes a breath and squares her shoulders before reaching for a stack of files.

Laurel sits back down at her own desk, picking up the file she was going over.

She just wishes she knew how to approach Thea about it. If things get any worse, she might have to blow straight past subtlety and into direct. That’s still no guarantee that Thea will _talk_ , but maybe it’ll get them _somewhere_.

\-----

“And that concludes our weekly meeting,” Malcolm says, standing from the head of the table.

Tommy gets to his feet, nodding at the others who pass by on the way out while he stays behind. His father waits until the glass doors are shut and they’re alone before turning to him.

“Tommy,” he says, approaching.

“Yeah, dad?” Tommy asks. His father said he wanted to talk to him after the meeting with the rest of the board, but he was cryptic, as usual.

“I’m going to be busy tonight, so I need you to look over the reports for next week for me, if you will,” his father says.

Tommy blinks. “You’re...trusting me with something that important?” he asks, mouth twisting, “Are you sure? I don’t want to accidentally-” He cuts off when his father grips his shoulder with a smile and leans a little closer.

“ _Yes_ , Tommy, I’m trusting you,” his father emphasizes, giving his shoulder a squeeze before pulling back with a clap to it. “And if you mess something up, we’ll take care of it. And it’ll come out of your paycheck.”

Tommy groans quietly. “Remind me again why I decided to come work for you?”

“Because love is a very powerful motivator,” Malcolm replies, then smirks a little, knowing, “And you want to give Laurel what you feel she deserves.” 

Tommy’s cheeks warm and he stutters a little as he watches his father go, heartbeat all over the place. He takes a breath and rolls his eyes up at himself, heading out of the conference room after him.

\-----

Shado stops at the perimeter gate to the factory and pulls it open enough to slip back inside, pausing and turning when she hears tires approach and roll to a stop behind her. Joe looks back through the windshield, brows lowered and looking like a storm cloud, so the usual. She pulls the gate open wider so he can drive through, pulling it back shut once he has and following his car up the short drive while scanning the area to make sure they’re alone. 

It’s been pretty quiet since they first came to the factory. She doesn’t doubt that some of the residents have probably seen them coming and going, but so far, the people she’s run into and talked with at the small local shops have seemed the type to keep to themselves (and the few that weren’t she sent into the pavement and hasn’t seen since). And if they do have an inkling as to who’s using the factory as a base, none of them seem inclined on getting involved.

“Wasn’t sure you’d come today,” she calls up ahead as Joe gets out of his car, shouldering his bag and locking the car before shutting the door. He glances over at her and then ahead to the factory.

“Thought I’d tuck my tail and run?” he asks once she’s close enough.

She smiles a little, heading past him to the factory door and pulling it open for him. He gives her a look but walks inside, both of them glancing around again to make sure no one else is around before she shuts it after them.

“No,” she replies as they walk towards the basement door, “But I did think you might need more time to center yourself.” He slants her another look and she raises her brows a little, lips curling up again. “I see you got that from Slade as well,” she says pointedly.

Joe rolls his eyes up and then back forward, pulling the basement door open for her this time. They both pause when they hear metal striking metal below and Joe tenses, gripping his bag straps tighter. Shado glances over, watching him.

She’s not worried about Slade and Oliver fighting, especially since Slade said they were going to spar before she left, but she’s not sure if Joe thinks they’re serious and he needs to intervene, or if he’s realized Oliver is down there and has to see him sooner than he planned. Or both.

She steps past him and leads the way down, listening for the door behind her. It closes after a moment as steps trail after her and she steps out into the basement, looking left as she heads over to the table. Slade and Oliver are moving almost too fast for her eyes to keep track of, but she manages.

Slade twists away when Oliver stabs forward, deflecting Oliver’s sword with one of his own while he spins forward and low with the other. Oliver jumps back and then twists forward, blades hitting. He spins down to try and sweep Slade’s leg out from under him with his own but Slade’s already moving, spinning around to Oliver’s back. Oliver throws his sword up to block both of Slade’s before dropping forward on his free hand and kicking up, aiming his foot beneath Slade’s chin. Slade knocks it aside with the back of his fist and stabs forward with his other sword and Oliver twists to the side and back to his feet in a smooth cartwheel-motion, spinning a sideways flip and slashing with his own sword to deflect both of Slade’s like a tornado. They both run at each other, coming to a sharp stop as Oliver’s sword collides with both of Slade’s, eyes never once leaving one another as they push at each other, like they’re in their own little world.

Shado catches Oliver’s lips curling up, just the tiniest bit while Slade smirks wide and vicious, then Slade shoves Oliver back with a rough sound, chasing after him as Oliver twists and flips away, messy ponytail whipping around.

Shado smiles a little at the familiarity of it until her eyes catch on the brand and tattoos on Oliver’s back when he spins. She drags her eyes away, glances over to find Joe staring at them, eyes a little wide and frozen in place. He doesn’t look scared, but she can’t quite place the look on his face. Surprised? Then again, he’s probably never seen Slade fight with the mirakuru in him, let alone against someone else who has it and can go toe to toe with him.

She watches Joe for a moment longer before turning and digging her phone out, opening a text to Felicity.

\-----

“We have anything on Harper yet?” Lance asks, picking at his mushy, half-eaten sandwich on his desk before discarding it altogether and dumping it in the trash. Lunch with Laurel is definitely better than lunch without her.

“He went up near the abandoned Queen Steel Factory around midnight, but other than that? Nothing,” Lucas replies distractedly, eating his own lunch across the way. Some soup his wife made yesterday. Lance can smell it from his desk and it’s making his mouth water.

His attention snaps back at the name mention though and he turns to his computer, bringing up information on the factory.

“I know you released him so you could track him in the hopes that he’d lead you to the vigilante, what with him being a groupie and all, but I still don’t know if it’s going to pan out,” Lucas says while he chews and Lance half listens, reading over the factory information. It’s all old for the most part. Robert Queen sourced out to China before the- _Before_ , put thousands of workers out of business, they shut the building down and haven’t done anything with it since.

Lance rubs at his mouth with a hand, thinking. He’ll need to watch the boy- Harper, himself for a bit, but Oliver Queen’s blood coming up and Harper going near the Queen Steel Factory after getting arrested for trying to be a vigilante himself? Seems like a little too much to be a coincidence. His gut says it might be something, so Lance puts it on the back burner for tonight, checking the clock.

\-----

Laurel spends the day trying to focus on work, but her thoughts keep drifting to Thea and the Vigilante Problem. Maybe she should just ask her? It might be easier, faster, but then again, Thea might just play it off or clam up, and she did just find a dead body. But, horrible as it is, maybe that means Laurel should ask _now_ and use it to her advantage to get the seriousness of the situation across and just how in over her head Thea _is_ -

Her phone _pings_ and she stills, digging it out of her pocket and checking the text.

‘ _Cant make dinner. Dad gave me homework :(_ ‘

Laurel blinks, mind skidding to a halt out of the endless loop of _work, vigilante, Thea, work, vigilante, Thea_ and she huffs a laugh, weight on her shoulders lessening for a minute.

‘ _Breakfast tomorrow?_ ’ she sends back. Her phone vibrates a minute later.

‘ _Sure! :)_ ’, with more than a few heart emojis attached at the end. Laurel chuckles quietly.

“What’s so funny?” Thea asks, snapping her out of her thoughts, eyes darting over. Thea’s lips twitch up a little and Laurel smiles, turning her phone screen off and pocketing it.

“Just Tommy being Tommy,” she replies.

“So...chasing after girls and getting caught in hilariously compromising positions?” Thea teases a little, eyebrow twitching up, even though Tommy hasn’t done that in years.

Laurel huffs. “Amazing how he’s changed, isn’t it,” she replies wryly.

“Ever since he went to work with his...dad, right?” Thea asks slowly, brows drawing together.

“Around then, yeah,” Laurel replies, “Only about a year after…” She clears her throat quietly and Thea focuses again, both their eyes shifting away. “But, anyway,” Laurel continues after a beat, “He’s been doing good with Malcolm, surprisingly. After that rough transitional period.” Laurel grimaces a little.

Tommy had been like a cat dropped in a bathtub for a month, complaining about his father’s cold demeanor, his almost clinical detachment, his distance, his bluntness. Laurel was there for some of it, but then something happened a little over a month in and everything just...changed. There was still some tension for a long while, but Tommy calmed down, Malcolm slowly started opening up. Still not as much as Tommy would have liked, if what he told Laurel was anything to go by, but he wasn’t quite as cold, and Tommy even started taking Malcolm’s calls again. 

Tommy’d said they’d had a talk, a long one, aired things out between them, as much as Malcolm was willing, and things just…gradually started improving. They’re still not perfect, Tommy and Malcolm are too different for it to be, but looking back, Laurel’s pleasantly surprised at how much things between them have changed. She could never have pictured Tommy working for his father five years ago, let alone having civil conversations with him.

Thea makes a quiet, considering sound, drawing Laurel’s attention back. “Malcolm...went away for a while, right?” Thea asks, brows drawing together again. She looks over and Laurel pauses, thinking.

“After his wife passed away, yes,” she answers, “I can’t really blame him for needing to. I just hate that he left Tommy here by himself to deal with it alone,” she frowns.

“He had Ollie though,” Thea replies, and Laurel pauses again, that deep, splintered, five year old _ache_ in her chest _twinging_. “And you,” Thea adds, catching the look on her face.

Laurel takes a breath and nods, looking down to the open file on her desk. She listens to the paper shuffling and chatter surrounding them in the room for a minute before Thea adds, quiet:

“Sorry.”

Laurel looks back over, lips twisting up in something near a smile. “It’s not your fault,” she says gently, “And you’re right. I might-...have my feelings towards Oliver, but you’re right.”

Thea smiles a little, small and tight, and Laurel looks back down to her file, making herself sit up after a minute and drag her head out of old memories better left at sea, missing the worried look on Thea’s face as Thea’s eyes drop down to her own file, fingers curled tight around the phone in her pocket.

\-----

Diggle blinks when his phone vibrates and he pulls it out while taking a sip of his coffee from the to-go cup to see a text from Felicity:

‘ _Hey! What are you up to?_ ’

Then:

‘ _It’s okay if I text right… 8(_ ‘

Diggle huffs with a small smile, texting back:

‘ _Yeah its okay’_

 _‘:D_ ’

He huffs again and then sighs after a moment, expression sobering. He finally gets up the nerve to send:

‘ _Told Thea about our mutual friends_ ’

His phone vibrates a few seconds later.

‘ _D: Okay...Good or bad?_ ’

He frowns while he thinks that over, then sends:

‘ _Think its better to keep her in the loop. With everything going on, she’s going crazy_ ’

His phone vibrates after a minute.

‘ _Understandable. How’s she holding up?_ ’

‘ _Shaken, but managing_ ’, he sends back.

‘ _Want me to tell Wilson?_ ’

He frowns again and shakes his head, sending:

‘ _No. I got it. Will do tonight_ ’

His phone vibrates after a few minutes this time.

‘ _Currently with our other friend. Shado stayed behind to keep an eye on things and Joe. Says our friends are sparring but won’t send vid or pix!!! Smart not to, but still T^T_ ’

Diggle huffs a laugh at the latter, but then frowns at the former, rolling his shoulders out and shifting in the driver’s seat to try and get more comfortable. Felicity told him about the fight between Joe and Oliver earlier this morning, and honestly, he wasn’t too surprised. The only thing that surprised him was that Oliver nearly killed Joe and Slade somehow managed to deal with it all without putting a hole in anyone, at least literally.

Diggle looks up from his phone to scan his surroundings out the windows, making sure it’s clear and watching the sun slowly sink for a moment before letting himself get distracted again when his phone vibrates.

‘ _Going to bring Thea?_ ’

‘ _Not sure_ ’, he sends back, ‘ _Should check with friend first_ ’

‘ _Good point_ ’

He’s not sure what to send after that so he pockets his phone, letting his thoughts focus on what to do with his charge instead of- the cluster that’s still rat-packed in his head, everything about-...Andy, Deadshot. It hadn’t occurred to him at first, but after thinking over it all the whole day and night, the only thing he couldn’t figure out was _why_. Deadshot was a hired gun, and not a cheap one, so someone _paid_ him a lot of money to kill Andy, but _who?_ And _why?_

He stews on it some more before coming out of his thoughts long enough to check the time, getting out of his car when he realizes it’s about time for Thea to get done. He leans back against the driver’s side door and finishes up his coffee while he waits, tossing the empty cup in the nearest trash bin. He stands when she steps out of C.N.R.I. a few minutes later and makes a beeline for him after saying goodbye to Ms. Lance, getting the back door open for her and closing it after her once she’s inside. He slips into the driver’s seat and starts the car, checking out the windows and mirrors before pulling away from the curb out into the street.

“Now what?” Thea asks after a minute, practically vibrating in the backseat.

“Now we talk,” he answers, glancing back at her through the rearview mirror. There’s no real graceful way to say it, so he just throws it out there: “Your brother was part of a secret organization of assassins.” He can feel Thea staring at the back of his head, but she doesn’t say anything for a minute, so he continues, “He was sent here to kill you and your mother as part of his mission, but couldn’t do it, so...I’m not sure what the others who came with him told their leader, but he’s here off leash now.”

Thea remains silent in the backseat and Diggle gives her time to process, slowing to a stop at an intersection and waiting for the light to change.

“He-...” she trails off, voice rough. He glances up in the rearview mirror to check on her, sees her rub at her eyes, then her face before taking a big breath. “...Okay,” she says on the exhale, more to herself than him, “ _Okay_.” She looks up in the mirror and he drops his eyes back to the road after a few seconds, driving forward when the light changes. “And Wilson’s...trying to, what? Help him become more...normal again?”

“Something like that,” Diggle replies, lips twisting a little, “Your brother is-...or isn’t, exactly behaving like a person, and definitely not like you probably remember. I get the feeling he’s not even staying in a hotel room, if that helps give you an idea of what he’s been like. We had him locked up at one point, and it took Wilson yelling at him after nearly three days of a friend trying to talk to him before he hit a turning point and really gave up his mission.”

“To kill me and...mom,” Thea says quietly, eyes down on her lap and brows drawn sharply together when Diggle checks again. He leisurely takes the turn-off to head towards the mansion, trying to give her more time to soak that in. “And when he was shot?” she eventually asks, still quiet.

“The assassin, Deadshot, the body you found,” Diggle answers just as quiet, voice going a little tight while his hands grip the steering wheel harder, “He shot your brother with a poisoned bullet near the mansion parking lot.”

“ _Poisoned?!_ ” Thea lets out, jerking forward in her seat against her seatbelt.

“Your brother’s fine,” Diggle reassures her quickly, “He has…” He stops, debating with himself again. _She’s going to find out anyway_ , he thinks, sighing. “He has a serum in him from the island, helped keep him alive and fight it off,” he finally finishes.

“Serum…?” Thea asks, brows drawing together again, “ _What_ serum?”

“I’m not the best person to explain that,” Diggle answers honestly, “All I know is it makes him stronger, faster, and harder to kill.” Her lips pinch hard and he frowns at himself. Probably not the best wording.

Thea’s quiet again for five minutes this time, then, “When can I see him?”

“With any luck? Tomorrow,” Diggle answers, glancing up in the mirror again, “But I can’t guarantee that. Wilson and your brother aren’t exactly the best people to surprise.”

Thea’s quiet at that, eyes eventually shifting up to stare out the back passenger window while she tries to process. It’s a relief to finally have _answers_ , but just as, if not _more_ worrying learning what they are.

It’s quiet for a while. Diggle takes the last turn onto the stretch of road that leads to the mansion and Thea speaks up again, voice a little hoarse and weary:

“Since you were in the army...and probably know more about all of this than I do right now, have you ever heard of A.R.G.U.S.?” she asks, looking back. 

Diggle stills in his seat. “Why do you ask?” he returns, glancing up sharply in the mirror.

“Some woman came by to talk to me yesterday, after the police,” Thea answers, frowning back, “An ‘Agent Michaels’?”

Diggle nearly slams on the breaks, just managing to keep the car going steady.

“I’ll take _that_ as a yes,” Thea observes, watching him closely.

 _Lyla_ , Diggle thinks, stunned, _Why would she be_ -

And then it clicks.

Deadshot. International assassin.

 _Shit_ , he thinks, gritting his teeth, _I should’ve seen this coming_. He wouldn’t have known who they’d send, but he should’ve seen A.R.G.U.S. sending _someone_.

He keeps driving, checking the mirrors. He doesn’t see anyone tailing them so far, but he hasn’t been paying close enough attention.

 _Damn it_.

“You got that phone Wilson gave you on you?” he asks.

“Yeah, why?” Thea asks, frowning again.

“I need you to send Wilson a text that says you and I might be being followed.”

“By A.R.G.U.S.?” Thea asks slowly, eyes dropping down as she pulls the phone out and taps out the message.

“Yeah,” Diggle answers, eyes shifting to the mirrors again. There’s still nothing as they turn onto the Queen property, but he’s not reassured. He turns the car towards the parking lot, parking in his usual spot and shutting it off. They get out, Diggle locking the car but not moving, and Thea lingers with him. “You said Agent Michaels was in the house?” he asks, looking over at the mansion.

“Yeah. Why?” Thea asks again, frowning up at him.

“Because A.R.G.U.S. might’ve bugged it while they were here,” Diggle answers, looking back.

Thea’s eyes widen a little and she reaches up to grip her arms, shoulders hunching as she looks over at her house, muttering, “Great. You’re starting to sound more paranoid than even _I_ feel.”

“Trust me,” Diggle says, brows lowering and drawing her eyes back with his tone, “Where A.R.G.U.S. is concerned? It’s warranted.”

“What _is_ A.R.G.U.S.?” she asks, face scrunching a little, “Agent Michaels didn’t say much.”

“She wouldn’t,” Diggle answers, “It’s ‘Advanced Research Group United Support’, a research and special ops group for the government. It’s not much on the surface, but underneath, it’s an organization used to handle terrorist threats, quietly.”

“And they’re after-...” Thea trails off, eyes wide.

“Maybe,” Diggle answers, “That, or whoever your brother used to work for, or Wilson. Problem is, I can’t be sure if they’re just here because of Deadshot, if they’re using Deadshot as a way in for another agenda, and if they are, how long they’ve known about what’s going on. Or if they’re after everything: your brother, your brother’s former employer, _and_ Wilson.” Diggle’s jaw tightens while Thea’s eyes dart down in thought, brows drawing together as she absorbs that.

“This is a problem,” she mutters.

Diggle huffs a breath. No kidding. He holds in a sigh as he looks around. He’s going to have to triple back to make sure he’s not followed when he goes to the factory, if he wants to risk it at all.

\-----

Felicity hurries down the stairs to the sound of metal hitting metal, swaying a little in her heels in her rush before she regains her balance and steps out into the basement, darting over to Shado and Joe at the table while she looks over.

Wilson and Oliver are still sparring, both with their shirts off, scars and brand standing out in relief in the lights hitting their sweaty skin. Wilson sweeps both of his swords and Oliver leaps up, flips off of Wilson’s shoulder with his free hand while stabbing his sword down towards the base of Wilson’s neck, sending Felicity’s heart up into her throat. Wilson twists while blocking and Oliver lands in a crouch on his feet, leaping forward and swinging his sword again. The metal hits with a sharp sound and Oliver shoves _Wilson_ back, both of them...Are those _smiles?_ On _both_ their faces? It’s definitely smaller on Oliver, but-

Felicity stares a minute, then blinks over at Shado. Shado looks back from where she’s eating some takeout at the end of the table, smiling a little before looking over at Wilson and Oliver again. Felicity looks over to Joe, who’s watching with his brows drawn down together like he’s thinking, which makes Felicity frown, her own brows drawing together a little as her eyes dart back to the fight.

Their swords meet again and they both _push_ , neither giving. Oliver’s ponytail is coming loose, hair going every which way and swinging wildly when he flips back, bracing both hands on the floor and kicking up. Wilson leans back to dodge it and sweeps his swords forward and Oliver twists, dropping himself low and rolling to his back on the floor, thrusting his sword up to block both of Wilson’s as he keeps moving, getting back to his feet while Wilson chases him across the room, Oliver _flipping off a wall_ as he twists back around.

Felicity’s never actually seen the two of them occupying the same space this long before in something other than tense silence. Sure, they’re fighting right now, but...they’re not trying to kill each other (she’s pretty sure) and Oliver isn’t trying to kill his family. 

Oliver’s movements are...different. They’re both fluid, but Wilson’s attacks are sharper, look like they have more blunt force behind them while Oliver is full of twists and turns, lighter, in a way, which Felicity supposes makes sense. They’re about the same height and covered in muscle, but Wilson’s shoulder’s are wider, his body just bigger in general.

Felicity takes a seat at the table and digs her laptop out, opening it up and turning it on between watching the fight. Wilson gets Oliver shoved back against a wall after a couple minutes, Oliver’s sword up to block both of Wilson’s trying to press Oliver’s own sword down against his throat, Wilson’s smirk widening while Oliver’s eyes drop to-

Felicity frowns a little, glancing over at Shado again, who’s still watching the fight, chopsticks forgotten where they’re leaning against the side of one of the white takeout boxes in front of her. Felicity’s eyes dart back just as Oliver shoves Wilson away, pressing forward with his own sword swings and twisting into a harder one, both of Wilson’s swords coming up to block it as Oliver shoves _him_ back against a wall, smirking just a tiny bit as they both pant. Wilson’s smirk eases a little and goes...softer? Leaning forward the tiniest bit, noses nearly brushing like-

Felicity’s eyes widen and dart back to Shado, who finally glances back. Felicity raises her eyebrows high in question. Shado glances to Wilson and Oliver and then back to Felicity, lips quirking up in a small smirk before she takes a bite of her food. Felicity’s eyebrows nearly climb to her hairline as she drags her eyes back, staring.

That can’t mean that-...Shado can’t mean...that... _That_ …Maybe Felicity’s just seeing things?

Her eyes shift over to Joe where his arms are crossed, brows lowered and expression a dark thunder cloud quickly gaining traction, then back to Oliver and Wilson. Wilson shoves Oliver back and finally gets Oliver’s legs swept out from under him, taking him to the floor and getting a sword to his throat as he bends close, noses nearly brushing again as they pant. Oliver hooks a leg around one of Wilson’s and shoves up with a grunt while pushing at Wilson’s swords with his own, flipping them and getting _his_ sword to Wilson’s throat. They both pant in each other’s faces, all close and in their own little world and...sweaty.

Felicity stares, heart beating faster in her chest.

Nope. Yup. There’s definitely _something_ there.

“Been a while since I’ve had to push myself,” Wilson says, smirking again.

Oliver snorts faintly and stands while he tries to catch his breath and slow his heart rate back down, turning and heading over to the table to grab his sword sheath, sliding his sword in with a solid _thunk_ when the hilt hits the leather. He looks up to find Joe glaring hard at him from the left across the table and pauses. His eyes shift to Smoak, who stares at him wide eyed for a moment before jolting a little and quickly averting her gaze, then to Shado, who raises a brow back before looking away too, taking a too casual bite of her food. Oliver stares at them both, then drags his eyes back to Joe, who shifts his glare past Oliver to- Slade.

“So _that’s_ why?” Joe demands, and Oliver’s heart beats a little faster while his grip tightens on his sword.

“‘That’s why’ what?” Slade asks back, checking his blade edges before looking over, raising a brow.

“You two are _fucking_ ,” Joe grits out, jaw tight.

Slade and Oliver still, Slade’s eyes shifting to Oliver’s back then over to Joe again. 

Felicity stares, wide eyes darting between the three of them while Shado swallows her bite and slowly sets her chopsticks down, watching them all steadily while subtly reaching over for the bow and quiver propped against the side of her chair.

“That’s why you won’t _leave_ ,” Joe continues, fists tightening where they can’t see.

Slade’s expression hardens, just watching Joe for a minute, then he walks over to the table and stops next to Oliver. “Yes. We are,” he answers bluntly.

Joe straightens as he leans back a little. His glare shifts to Oliver, then his eyes dart to Felicity and Shado. “You both _knew?_ ” he demands.

“What?! No!” Felicity lets out, hands coming up in mock-surrender before flapping towards Oliver and Slade. “I just figured it out just now too!”

Joe’s eyes shift to Shado who keeps watching him steadily, doesn’t say a word, and Joe _growls_ a little, eyes landing back on his father. “ _On the island?_ ” he demands, jaw clenching.

“No,” Slade answers evenly.

“But there was _something_ ,” Joe fills in the gap of silence.

Slade’s brows lower a little more while Oliver stays quiet, lips pressed flat together. Joe turns sharply and heads straight for the stairs, taking them up and slamming the door behind him. Felicity winces while Shado frowns.

“Well...that...didn’t go so well,” Felicity says after a tense minute, dragging her eyes back. They catch on two sweaty, well muscled chests _right in front of her_ and she forces her eyes up, cheeks warm. “You two are really…?” She points between them and they both look down at her, eyes hard. She swallows, shrugging helplessly. “Well, at least that explains a few things.” _A lot of things_ , she mentally adds, trying to stop her brain from coming up with visual aids. So many visual aids. _**Wrong time, wrong place**_ , she thinks firmly, giving her head a hard shake.

“Give him time,” Shado says after a moment, drawing their eyes over. “He needs to process, just like last time.”

Oliver’s lips pinch and he drops his eyes to the table, then looks over at Slade. “I don’t want to come between-”

“You’re not,” Slade cuts him off, looking over, “There’s already a canyon between me and Joe. This isn’t much more.”

“But I’m making it worse,” Oliver replies low, brows lowering, “Aren’t I.”

Slade rolls his neck, then his shoulders, letting out a sigh. “Stop trying to be a martyr,” he grunts, rounding the table with his swords to sheathe them and drop them on the cot, “What’s between you and me has little to do with what’s between me and Joe. Drop it.”

Oliver’s brows draw together while his lips flatten all over again. He looks over to Shado who looks back, so calm in the middle of everything. She’s always been that way, or almost always, the placid sea to his crashing ocean. He wishes he was more like-

Oliver shakes his head a little, turning away.

Wishing is meaningless.

“He’ll be back,” Felicity says, drawing his eyes over. She shrugs a little again. “And if not, I can find him. I think Shado’s right though, he just needs time to process. There’s been a lot he’s had to come to terms with lately.” _His dad being alive, his dad leaving, his dad becoming a vigilante, his dad not wanting to go home, and now this whole thing with Oliver,_ she mentally lists off, wincing a little.

Oliver’s expression tightens like he can read her mind and she tries to smile reassuringly, dropping her eyes to her laptop and clearing her throat awkwardly.

 _Well, first non-lethal contact with Mr. Queen_ , she thinks, glancing over to make sure he’s turned away before pulling up a previous image search, looking over the old photos of Oliver she’d found the other day. She looks up at him again, then back down, something twisting in her chest. _I may not have known him then, but the differences are_ …

She holds in a sigh, closing the search when she hears Wilson shift back by the cot behind her.

 _And Diggle wants to bring Thea to see him_ , she thinks, frowning a little and looking worriedly over at Oliver’s back, the tattoo down the center and the brand peeking out from the top of his pants, the large scar in his left side, the smaller ones that wrap around his sides and back and forearms. She can’t imagine that reunion going too well, but...maybe it’ll help both of them in the long run.

 _Speaking of, where is Dig?_ she wonders with a frown, pulling her phone out and opening their texts. She pauses when she hears Slade curse sharply behind her, turning to see him gritting his teeth down at his own phone.

“What is it?” she asks, brows drawing together.

\-----

Lance pats at his pockets when his phone vibrates and drags his eyes away from the Queen Steel Factory, answering it distractedly while his eyes shift back. “Lance?” So far he’s seen two cars parked up there for the past two hours, but no one’s come out yet.

“ _Hey, dad_ ,” Laurel says in his ear, dragging his attention back.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he answers, looking away from the factory, “What’s up?”

“ _You know about the body Thea found, right?_ ” Laurel asks.

“Yeah,” he answers, looking back to the factory. Still quiet and no sign of Harper (yet).

“ _He wasn’t just a burglar, was he_ ,” Laurel says rather than asks, and Lance’s lips pinch.

“No,” he answers, looking away from the factory again, down at his steering wheel, “He was an international assassin wanted by Interpol named ‘Deadshot’. Guess that name came around to bite him in the ass,” he adds wryly.

Laurel blows out a breath on the other end of the line and Lance settles back a bit more in his seat, looking over at the factory. “Laurel, I don’t want you digging,” he warns, “A.R.G.U.S. got involved.”

“ _A.R.G.U.S.?_ ” she asks, a frown in her voice, “ _Never heard of them_.”

“Yeah, and for good reason,” Lance replies, “Even the police don’t know much about them, just that they come in for serious matters regarding the safety of state. But if they’re involved and it has to do with the vigilantes somehow, I don’t want you caught up in it.”

“ _But Thea-_ ” she starts.

“Speak to her, convince her to stop whatever she’s doing,” he replies, interrupting, brows drawing together when he catches movement up in front of the factory, grabbing his binoculars out of the passenger seat. “But don’t get involved.”

“ _But, dad_ -” Laurel starts again.

“Listen, honey,” he interrupts quickly, attention already shifting, “I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you soon, okay?” He hangs up before she can protest and adjusts the view on his binoculars. A young man steps out of the factory, can’t be more than twenty, black hair and maybe light eyes, darker skin with a furious expression, dressed in jeans, a white shirt, and jacket. He gets in one of the cars, the headlights staying off as he pulls back and drives down to the gate, getting out long enough to get it open and shut behind his car before turning off onto the street and driving away, only then turning on the headlights.

Lance frowns, watching him go, then his lips twist up a bit.

“There’s one,” he mutters, frowning as he looks back to the warehouse, but no one else comes out. 

Now that just leaves figuring out how many people are involved. He can’t be sure the vigilante is staying at the factory, it could just be a meeting place for drug sellers or gangs, but the kid didn’t look like either of those things.

Lance lowers his binoculars and digs his notebook out, jotting down a brief description, the time, and the license plate number he caught on the car.


	25. You make me drown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Brief homophobia in a memory
> 
> Repeat song; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RG8qu0LcHYU "Drown" by Brian Dalton

Roy’s eyes dart around the roof, hands in his pockets. Ghost isn’t getting the drop on him this time. He’s going to-

“Your back’s exposed again,” that same rough voice from last night grunts behind him and Roy jolts, whipping around.

“How do you _do_ that?!” he lets out, eyes wide and hands balled into fists. Guy’s _huge_ but he’s so damn _**quiet**_.

“Practice,” Ghost replies gruffly.

Roy watches him a moment. “Like shrugging off bullet wounds directly to the chest?” Ghost just stares at him, one eye unreadable, and Roy swallows a little, looking away first with a shrug. “Doesn’t really matter,” he says, looking back. As long as he gets the help he needs, nothing else about Ghost really matters.

Ghost watches him back for a minute before turning and heading for the edge of the roof, looking back over his shoulder when Roy doesn’t move. “Follow,” he orders before leaping over the side. Roy jolts into a run, looking over the edge, blowing out a relieved breath when he finds a fire escape down the side this time. He quickly jumps over the ledge, landing on the metal grating and leaping the stairs down, trying to catch up. Ghost is already darting around a corner when his feet hit cement and Roy chases his shadow.

He follows Ghost to some warehouse deeper in the Glades, not quite the center but off some ways to the left, one he’s seen before but hasn’t actually been in. He drops his hands to his knees once they finally come to a stop inside and tries to catch his breath, chest heaving.

“Bullets-...and _stamina_ ,” he pants out, looking up from beneath his hood.

Ghost is looking around the warehouse, presumably for threats, before finally turning and looking at him, that heavy gaze weighing him to the spot. 

Roy swallows and straightens back up. “So...now what?” he asks.

Ghost shifts and lowers down into a fighting stance, raising his fists. “Now you try to hit me,” he says.

Roy swallows again.

 _This is going to hurt_ , he thinks, but steels himself, brows lowering as he raises his own fists. He takes one more breath and runs forward, quickly closing the distance between them and throwing a punch, gritting his teeth-

\--

“Can you give me a ride?” Felicity asks as she finishes gathering her things, shoving her laptop in her bag and then carefully placing the potted plant she bought in on top of it.

“How did you get here?” Shado asks, frowning over while she grabs her bow and arrows.

“Cab,” Felicity answers, looking over and adding at Shado’s look, “I had them drop me off three blocks away. And I ran into five rats! _Five!_ ”

Shado’s lips twitch as she shoulders her bag. “You should be more careful,” she cautions.

“I have pepper spray and a ten pound laptop in my bag. I could take a would-be assailant or two,” Felicity tries for light, putting on a smile. She turns a little towards the stairs in question and Shado follows, so she starts walking.

“Where do you need a ride to?” Shado asks, shutting the floodlights off before trailing her up the stairs and closing the basement door behind them.

“I’ll tell you on the way, once we’re sure we’re not being followed, apparently,” Felicity replies with a frown, sending a text off to Diggle.

\--

Oliver rips his sword out of the Bratva leader’s chest, quickly spinning and decapitating the man that comes running at him with a raised gun before he can shoot, blood splattering across the nearby desk. They both fall to the floor with the rest and he flicks the extra blood off his sword, turning and walking past the bodies to the weapons cache at the end of the room.

No one protested him taking his sword when he left the factory basement earlier, though Shado still has his bow and arrows. He needs projectiles, something he can use long range.

He reaches forward and rips the cache’s locking mechanism out, tossing it aside and pulling the doors open, scanning over the options. He reaches over and grabs the nearest duffel bag sitting on a shelf, pulling the cache’s drawers open and slipping a few of the knives he finds in there on his person, shoving the rest in the bag, then moving onto the guns and ammunition. Once he has enough, he zips the bag shut, slides his sword back in its sheath on his hip, and leaves.

He drops it all off at the warehouse he’s staying in before pulling his phone out and texting Shado:

‘ _S?_ ’

His phone _pings_ a few minutes later with a GPS location from another number - Smoak’s, most likely - and he pulls up a map, following it.

It leads him to a warehouse further in the Glades. He climbs up and slips into one of the high windows, pausing briefly when he hears a loud grunt three stories below, landing silent on the catwalk and looking over the railing.

A kid in a red hoodie lays sprawled out on the ground in the center of the warehouse floor, breathing hard. Slade’s black shape slowly circles him in the dark, sticking to the shadows. He passes through the moonlight coming through the grimy and broken windows every so often, the matte black metal of his sword hilts standing out a little more than the rest of him, but he still looks like something prowling on the edges, dark and hungry.

“ _Get up_ ,” Slade growls, voice hard and unrelenting. The kid grunts as he rolls onto his front and pushes himself up, arms shaking a little. He gets to his feet and raises his fists, panting heavily. Slade runs at him and throws a fist, the kid dodging to the side and barely avoiding the kick Slade sends next, throwing himself forward in a sloppy flip and kicking his leg up high to try and close the distance between them. Slade dodges back, throwing another punch. It catches the kid in the stomach and the kid gags, spitting off to the side while his breathing goes ragged. “ _Again!_ ” Slade snaps, and the kid forces himself up-

Oliver drops down from the catwalk-

A sound catches Slade’s attention mid-swing and then his fist stops five inches from the boy’s face, Oliver’s hand tight around his wrist, unflinching when the boy’s fist hits Oliver’s back, the boy’s blue eyes wide over Oliver’s shoulder. Slade stares at green for a moment before yanking his fist back with a grunt, Oliver letting go.

“ _Enough_ ,” Oliver says firmly, brows drawn low. Slade grits his teeth and looks past him to the boy, pausing when he gets a good look at him.

His legs are already shaky and he’s breathing harder than Slade thought, chest heaving and sweat running down his temples. They’ve only been at it for an hour, haven’t they?

Slade’s lips press together beneath his mask and he forces the tension to bleed out of his shoulders, the boy practically folding like a house of cards as he drops his hands to his knees, panting as sweat slides down the bridge of his nose and drips to the dirty warehouse floor.

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Harper pants, then glares up at Wraith’s back, “I could’ve kept goin-” His world flips and he lands on his back with a breathy grunt, deja vu hitting him hard from the other night as he stares dumbly up at the warehouse ceiling and high hanging lamps.

“You’re on your last leg,” Wraith says low and quiet, voice hard, weirdly green eyes staring down at him over his half-face mask. Are they glowing a little? They look like they’re glowing. “Push yourself to breaking and all this is pointless,” Wraith finishes, slanting his eyes back over to Ghost, who stares back a moment before looking away.

“He’s doing better than you did when you first started,” Ghost finally grunts.

Roy stares between them, slowly pushes himself back to his feet. Wraith’s not wearing the robes Roy saw him in on the news, but it has to be him. “You _trained_ him?” Roy asks, eyes darting back to Ghost.

“Some,” Ghost grunts again, looking back before his eye shifts to Wraith.

It’s silent for a minute before Wraith asks quietly, “Who is he?” looking from Ghost back to Roy.

Ghost just watches Wraith for a moment before answering steadily, “A friend of Thea Queen’s.”

Wraith straightens, piercing green eyes focusing intently on Roy again. Roy tries not to twitch. Wraith’s eyes shift back to Ghost. “ _I don’t want her involved_ ,” he says firmly.

“She’s already involved,” Ghost replies, “This way, she might be safer.”

Wraith doesn’t say anything to that, looking over at Roy again after a couple moments. He steps close and Roy swallows but makes himself stand his ground. “Anything happens to her on _your_ watch, and you won’t live to get another beating, _do you understand?_ ” Wraith demands, deadly low and quiet.

Roy swallows, holding his stare, mostly because he’s pretty sure if he looked away, Wraith would gut him, or something. “Yeah,” he croaks out, adding quickly when Wraith just keeps staring at him, “I understand.” Wraith looks away and Roy lets out a quiet breath as the intense weight of his gaze slides off him, frowning. “Why do you guys care so much about that family anyway? Aren’t they just rich and living the high life?”

“You don’t need to know,” Ghost replies, tone hard and brooking no argument, “For now, just keep an eye on Thea Queen.”

“...Alright,” Roy says slowly. He sent her a text this morning when he found out about her finding the dead assassin, but she hasn’t replied yet. He’s been trying to give her space since she probably needs it, but maybe he should text her again. 

It’s quiet and awkward again and Roy looks between the two of them, trying to force the trembling out of his exhausted body. He’s going to be sore _all over_ tomorrow. 

“Anything else?” he hazards.

“Go home,” Ghost replies bluntly.

Roy twitches a little but nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Same time and place tomorrow?” he asks. Ghost nods and Roy quickly slinks past them, gaze lingering before he exits the warehouse.

Slade and Oliver watch him go.

“What are you doing here?” Slade asks.

Oliver’s lips press together while he keeps his eyes on the warehouse door. “We need to talk,” he forces out.

“We’re not talking about Joe,” Slade grunts.

“He’s your son, Slade,” Oliver replies, eyes shifting over, “I don’t-...”

“You’re right, he’s _my_ son,” Slade snaps back, brow lowering over his eye through the hole in his mask. 

Oliver’s brows draw together and he looks away, hears Slade sigh after a minute.

“Just because he is, doesn’t mean he gets to tell me who I’m with, same with me telling him,” Slade continues, then adds firmly, “I will handle it. Whatever comes of it is mine to deal with.”

Oliver’s lips flatten while his fingers curl and he looks back. “But you spent _five years_ trying to get back to him,” he says quieter.

Slade’s expression tightens from what little Oliver can see of it and Slade turns around, heading deeper into the warehouse before pulling his mask up and off, pocketing it and his bluetooth. “And I did,” is all he says, but Oliver already knows that’s not exactly true. Slade’s here, in Starling, with him. He’s not sure how to feel about that other than _guilty_. Slade keeps saying Oliver’s not the reason he and Joe are at odds, and maybe he isn’t the whole reason, but he’s part of it.

Oliver drags his eyes away, looking out the windows up in the front of the warehouse before turning and following Slade deeper into the dark, pushing his hood back and pulling his mask up and off, pocketing it. There’s a pressure in his chest, tight and all encompassing. No matter what Slade tells him, it’s not going away. He’s not sure if- “I can’t keep doing this if I’m part of the reason you won’t be with your son,” he says, quiet but firm, even while something _twinges_ in his chest at the thought of Slade leaving.

 _At least he’d be alive and with Joe_ , he thinks, dragging his eyes up from the floor to look at Slade.

“I told you to stop being a _martyr_ ,” Slade growls, staring hard at him.

“I’m not-” Oliver starts.

“You _are_ ,” Slade cuts him off, stepping closer. 

Oliver’s lips twist while his fingers curl at his sides, trying to keep his gaze from averting, just like last night. “I’m being _selfish_ ,” he grits out quietly, strained, glaring back at Slade, “Every time, with every _one_. With Laurel, with Sara, with- you. I’m always hurting someone no matter who I’m with, _because_ of who I’m with. I-”

“You _want_ me to leave?” Slade cuts him off again, tone steady as his mismatched eyes study him.

Oliver swallows, lips twisting again and brows drawing together while he struggles with what he _should_ say and what he _wants_ to say. “ _No_ ,” he finally admits, dragged out of him, voice rough and throat going tight. Slade steps closer and grips the side of his neck, pulling him in before Oliver can think to stop him, noses brushing.

“Then shut up,” Slade orders, gaze hard, the harshness in it lessening a little before their mouths press together and Oliver can’t see it anymore, eyes falling shut without his permission. He reaches up and grips hard at Slade’s armor, kisses him back even harder with a quiet, rough sound in the back of his throat as the desperation presses at his insides, heart beating harder. Something inside him...softens, _warms_ , and he grips onto Slade tighter, trying to ignore it. _It’s unbearable_.

The kiss breaks and Oliver presses his forehead to Slade’s, keeping his eyes shut. “Slade,” he breathes, fingers curling tighter when Slade’s arm wraps around his waist, pulling him closer. He can’t stand it. He can’t- _**stand it**_. It’s too- _**too**_ -

Oliver’s throat starts going tight again and he tilts his head, kisses Slade rougher, bites at his lower lip and shudders a little at the low rumble against his chest. He pushes Slade back, only stops when Slade’s back hits a wall and kisses him again, sucks on his tongue, his lower lip before dragging his mouth down Slade’s stubbled chin to his neck, lower. He opens his eyes when he runs into kevlar and lowers down to his knees on the floor, dragging his hands down the front of Slade’s armor, over the straps holding his swords, the grenade shells, the pouches on his belt, looking up. Slade stares back down, eyelids lowered a little. One of his hands comes up and pushes back through the side of Oliver’s hair and Oliver holds still before he drags his eyes down, reaching for Slade’s belt and the front of his pants.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Slade asks quietly.

“No,” Oliver forces out, glaring up a little, “But I’m a fast learner.”

Slade snorts quietly while Oliver gets his pants open and tugs them down a little. “And here I thought you were the playboy,” Slade comments, and Oliver pauses.

“ _I know you’re going to do whatever you’re going to do,” his father says, blue eyes going hard as he continues, “But you are **never** to do it with another man again. The Queen Family reputation won’t bear it, and **I** won’t have it. I won’t see you drag your name, **our** name through the mud with that kind of public scandal.”_

_His father grips his shoulder hard, squeezing it tight, almost painful, and Oliver can’t look away from the look in his father’s eyes, heart beating hard as the confusion, the fear slink up and down his teenage spine. He never forgets it, this moment where his father is a stranger to him, not the kind, loving man he always was, but something cold and hard and unforgiving._

_“I love you, son,” his father says, “I know you’re better than that, Oliver._ ”

Oliver’s lips press together and he takes a breath, letting it out slow. It’s strange to feel a sliver of that old fear slide down his spine now after everything, after Lian Yu, the League, what he and Slade have already done. He takes another breath and pulls Slade’s boxers down enough to pull his cock out, pausing again and focusing on the weight of it in his hand. It’s...different, but not terrifying.

He pulls his gloves off and pockets them so he can feel the texture, experimentally, slowly trailing his fingers up. It’s not much different from his own, thicker and darker, but- the skin is satin soft, the shape is nearly the same. The only real differences are the foreskin and the color, and the black hair around the base. He slowly pushes the foreskin back and leans forward, stilling and darting his eyes up when Slade grips the side of his head, fingers curling a little into his hair.

“Go slow,” Slade warns, brown eye almost blown wide. Oliver can feel him hardening in his grip and swallows, a little nervous, a little curious, a little- anticipatory.

He drops his eyes back down and slowly leans forward the rest of the way, just as slowly dragging the flat of his tongue up the head, the slit as that old fear echoes through him. He hears Slade pull in a breath but it stays steady, even while Slade’s cock twitches a little in his hand, and Oliver repeats the motion as the fear gradually slides down and away, fades, brows drawing together a little as he focuses on the taste. 

It’s just skin, but Slade’s scent is stronger down here, exposed to open air. Oliver leans closer and sucks gently, experimentally at the head and feels Slade’s fingers tighten further in his hair, parts his lips and slowly sucks just the head in, careful of his teeth, and feels Slade’s fingers tighten more to the sound of a breath sucked in above him. He pulls back his head a little as Slade grows harder, stroking a hand experimentally down the shaft while he sucks at the head again, looking up.

Slade’s mismatched eyes are watching him, dark one fully blown and lips parted a little. Oliver’s own cock starts to harden and he drops his eyes, letting them close as he concentrates, sucking the head of Slade’s cock back into his mouth, then a little more while he strokes the rest. Slade groans low and breathy above him, barely a sound but Oliver hardens further and shifts his hips a little, sucking harder. He pulls his mouth off and leans forward as he lifts Slade’s cock, dragging his tongue up the underside and relishing the tightened grip in his hair, the second groan it gets him. He sucks at a raised vein, the underside of the head and shudders a little when Slade moans his name low and quiet, the sound of it ringing like clarity in his head, clearing out all his thoughts. He gets the head back in his mouth and tries doing what Slade did to him, bobbing his head forward a little and then pulling back, repeating it slowly, carefully. Slade grips his hair harder, then slowly loosens his grip. 

“Hold my hips down,” Slade pants quietly after a minute, voice rough. Oliver blinks out of his trance long enough to do it, pressing Slade’s hips firmly to the wall with his forearm. 

He goes back to sucking, licking, can’t get too much of it in his mouth but it sounds like it’s enough. He catches a taste of something a little salty across his tongue and pauses to absorb the flavor. It’s not cum, but the taste is almost familiar, different from his own, but similar enough it’s not too strange. He bobs his head again and strokes his hand faster along Slade’s cock, taking in as much of it as he can without choking on it. Slade’s fingers push roughly back through his hair before gathering it up and gripping it, letting it go after a minute to slide his hand to Oliver’s jaw. Oliver pants through his nose, swallows the salty taste in his mouth and keeps sucking, slides his tongue around and across the head and shudders again at the sound of Slade’s low, rough moan, the slick sounds of his own mouth in the quiet warehouse. He groans back quietly while his hips give a tiny jerk.

“Not much longer,” Slade warns in a rough grunt, and Oliver pushes on his hips harder, strokes faster while sucking firmly. He keeps it up for another minute, two, and then Slade’s hand quickly slips into the back of his hair and grips it, yanking his head back and his mouth off. Oliver’s eyes snap open and dart up out of his daze, foggy haze of arousal clearing a little.

“What-” he starts, panting quietly.

“Shouldn’t swallow the first time,” Slade grunts again, panting roughly.

“I _want to_ ,” Oliver replies, finds he _means_ it. Slade’s cock gives a twitch in front of him and he glances down briefly, watches more precum slip out and slide down the length of it.

“Won’t be able to,” Slade warns.

“Let me _try_ ,” Oliver replies firmly, looking back up. 

Slade studies him a moment before letting his hair go and Oliver leans back forward, chases the trail of precum back up the length of Slade’s cock with his tongue before sucking at the head again, relishing Slade’s groan above him. He strokes what he can’t get in his mouth again, keeps going until Slade groans harder and Slade’s fingers slip from his hair. Something shoots to the back of his throat while Slade’s hips give a jerk against his forearm and Oliver pulls back with a cough. The salty taste registers then as more hits his lips, feels it trail down his chin and swallows, clearing his throat. It tastes similar to himself but isn’t, and Oliver licks his lips a little, looking up after a minute when fingers card through his hair again. They round to cradle his jaw and tug up, and Oliver stands, shuddering a little when Slade slowly leans forward and drags his tongue up his chin, across his lips, cleans up the mess before kissing him roughly, thoroughly, hand sliding around to grip the base of his skull. Oliver groans quiet and deep and Slade’s grip tightens on him, tongue searching his mouth for traces of himself.

Oliver grinds his hips against the side of Slade’s and Slade reaches down, cups and grips him through his pants. Oliver groans roughly, gripping onto his armor. Slade pulls his gloves off and pockets them before pushing a hand down Oliver’s pants and Oliver moans, muffled into Slade’s mouth when warm, rough fingers wrap around his cock, hips jerking forward. Slade pulls his hand back out after a moment and Oliver makes a sound in his throat, isn’t sure what it is, but then Slade gets his pants open and flips them, pressing him back against the wall. Slade shifts closer and then his hand is back on his cock, other slipping down below it. Oliver thinks Slade’s going for his balls again but they go past it, pressing firmly just up behind them and _rubbing_ -

Something sparks sharp and new up his spine and Oliver’s back arches as the pleasure ricochets all throughout his body, cock leaking. He moans loud and sharp as he grips Slade’s armor tight and Slade presses him harder to the wall, kissing him roughly and sucking at his tongue while stroking him faster. The pleasure builds like a fire at the base of Oliver’s spine, sparks of lightning arcing through him when Slade presses hard up behind his balls again, spreading his legs a little more-

And then he’s coming so hard his thoughts white-out, sharp and sudden and all consuming, like the rage from yesterday but- _completely different_. 

He slowly comes back to himself panting roughly, Slade’s lips mouthing at his jaw, his neck while Slade’s hand slows on his cock as he goes soft, making him shudder. Slade sucks a kiss into the side of his neck and Oliver tilts his head to the side while he tries to catch his breath, heart beating hard and legs a little like jelly.

“No one’s ever stimulated your prostate before?” Slade asks after a minute, low and quiet below his ear.

Oliver shakes his head a little and Slade makes a low sound in his chest. Oliver doesn’t have the brain capacity to parse it right now, instead trying to gain control of his limbs again. He slowly loosens his grip on Slade’s armor, can feel the finger indentations he’s left and tries to flatten them back out while he trembles a little between Slade and the warehouse wall, an echo of the aftershocks still rippling through him.

“What kind of women did you sleep with?” Slade muses quietly, pulling back a little.

Oliver shakes his head again, then finally manages to drag his eyes open and string a sentence together. “I might’ve been too drunk,” he mumbles. Or high. Most of his late teens to early twenties before the island are a blur.

Slade huffs a breath, lips curling up faintly on one side before leaning forward to kiss him again, not as rough as before, and Oliver returns it, reaching up to grip his arm. Slade pulls back and Oliver just manages not to reel him back in, watching Slade tuck himself away for a moment before slowly reaching down to do the same.

“Not bad for your first time,” Slade comments.

Oliver snorts faintly and pushes up from the wall, taking stock of himself. He can walk, but fighting’s off the table for another minute unless his adrenaline kicks in and speeds up the process. He looks over at Slade, gives in to the urge and leans forward, lets himself kiss him again, fingers curling a little when Slade kisses him back. Slade’s fingers card through his hair again, layered strands lightly falling back into their tousled places.

“Wasn’t sure about the hair at first,” Slade mumbles between kisses, bites gently at his lower lip and drags his teeth across it, making Oliver shudder, “But it’s growing on me.”

Oliver huffs quietly through his nose before finally pulling back with a last kiss, looking at him. They share the quiet for a few minutes, almost...peaceful, and then Oliver makes himself pull out of it, stepping away. “I have something I need to do,” he says.

“Want company?” Slade returns.

Oliver shakes his head a little, looking back. He pulls his gloves out of his pockets and slips them on, then his mask, flipping his hood up. “Maybe next time,” he says, turning and running out of the warehouse.

Slade watches him go before his expression sobers and he digs out his phone, wiping his mess covered hand on his pant leg to wash later while looking over the text again.

_‘A.R.G.U.S. maybe following Diggle & I’_

He opens one to Felicity as his digs his bluetooth back out and slips it in his ear, pulling his mask on over it and then his gloves on before heading out of the warehouse.

\-----

Oliver keeps low as he runs across the rooftops, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be following him, down on the street and above it, any security cameras nearby. He slows to a stop a few rooftops away from Merlyn Global, looking up at all the glass. There’s a few lights still on, but he focuses on the one up near the top.

“ _What is it?” Smoak asks._

_“Thea suspects Malcolm Merlyn for the assassin, doesn’t say why,” Slade answers, eyes down on his phone while he reads, expression going hard as his brows draw lower, “And says A.R.G.U.S. might be following her and Diggle.” He growls quietly, shoving his phone roughly into his pocket. “He told her.”_

_“Malcolm Merlyn?” Smoak rediverts while Oliver stills. Her brows draw together. “Isn’t that...Tommy Merlyn’s father? Your best friend?” she adds, looking over at Oliver._

_Oliver keeps his eyes down and away, frowning in thought._

_“What do you think?” Slade asks after a minute, drawing his attention back._

_“Five years turned me into a killer,” Oliver answers, low and honest, “The League taught me nothing is ever what it seems.”_

_“You really think your best friend’s dad could have-” Smoak starts, stopping at a look from him, Oliver’s eyes hard and brows drawn low together._

_“Do you know how many people I’ve killed?” he asks. Her lips pinch and she looks away. “More than even that,” he continues, “Could you have pictured the me in those pictures you’ve looked up doing that?” Her brown eyes dart back, wide and caught, then down again, frowning hard._

_“We don’t know anything for certain,” Shado says calmly, eyes shifting to Smoak, “But we can look into it.”_

_Smoak looks back, nodding once. Her eyes shift to Oliver again, then Slade before she turns back to her laptop, closing the lid. “Not here,” she says, standing._

_“No,” Slade agrees, digging his phone out and checking the time, “I have something I need to do.”_

_**Me too** , Oliver thinks, turning to grab his hoodie up off the table while he tries not to think about- Tommy’s father potentially being responsible for putting an **assassin** outside the Queen Mansion, near his **family**._

_Oliver stills as that thought hits him, the anger of it, eyes searching the scuffed steel of the tabletop before he forces it away to focus on later, strapping his sword to his waist with a glance towards Slade and Shado. Neither of them say anything, though they both see him do it, and he heads for the window_.

Oliver takes a slow breath, fingers curling a little.

They don’t know anything for sure, but following Malcolm or Tommy might help, who apparently works for his father now, according to Smoak’s text from before his weapons restocking. It’s strange to think. Tommy and his father never got along after Tommy’s mother died and Malcolm came back from his two year leave, but then again, a lot of things are different now.

Oliver starts to crouch to settle in to wait when he catches a whistle of sound and throws himself right, spinning around and catching the next object aimed for where he rolls up. He looks down the length of- a black arrow to a man dressed in League robes, black bow at the ready and another arrow already notched and aimed for his face. 

The man pauses, eyes narrowing. “You’re League,” he says, voice deep and modulated.

Oliver slowly lowers the arrow from in front of his chest, just as slowly twirling it around and gripping it while they watch each other.

“I had a feeling you might be,” the man continues, then demands, “Did Ra’s al Ghul send you?” pulling his drawstring back a little tighter.

Oliver frowns a little beneath his mask.

So this person isn’t here for him, but has been watching him. Tracking him? Or...tracking Merlyn?

“I see you won’t be answering,” the man continues after a minute of the occasional car passing below and a gentle, summer breeze passing through, shifting the man’s black robes like a spectre. “Do you have a name? I’d like to know the name of the man I’m about to kill.”

Oliver’s brows lower but he refrains from tightening his grip around the arrow in his hand and giving himself away.

“Very well,” the man says lightly, firing.

Oliver spins, avoiding it and using the momentum to hide the strength in his throwing the one in his hand. The man dodges right while Oliver pulls his sword, already following the arrow’s trajectory, dodging another arrow and swinging his sword down. The man blocks it with his bow and Oliver shoves him back, following the man’s surprised stumbling with another swing, metal hitting hard against metal.

“You’re good,” the man grunts, deflecting his sword left and throwing a punch. Oliver spins around to avoid it and swings again. “I’m surprised Ra’s let you loose. ...Unless he didn’t,” the man jabs. 

Oliver ignores him, thrusting sharply forward with a burst of speed, sword blade skimming the man’s side. The man sucks in a breath as he darts right, hand coming up briefly to press to the wound. The man draws his own sword and swings back, sword then bow, one after the other and Al Sah-him parries both, whirling forward again. The man dances back, jerking to a sharp stop when his feet hit the edge of the roof, glancing back.

Blue eyes shift back to him and Al Sah-him runs forward, skidding to a stop and throwing his forearm up in front of his eyes when the man throws a flash bomb down at the roof, focusing on his hearing instead through the ringing. There’s the faintest whistle to his right and he flips left, bracing a hand on the roof and kicking out, striking something solid and hearing a low grunt in return. He whirls forward towards the sound, sword screeching against metal before hitting something that _gives_ and getting a pained _grunt_ , eyes focusing as the smoke from the bomb slowly gets swept away by the breeze.

“You’re faster than you should be,” the man says, voice strained, making another pained sound in his throat when Al Sah-him rips his sword out of his shoulder. The man presses his hand up to the wound, gripping his sword hilt tight. “And stronger. And your eyes...” The man’s eyes narrow, taking him in, then he runs sharply to the right and jumps over the edge of the roof. Al Sah-him follows, grabbing the black League ribbon latched to the side and following him down. The man drops and throws another flash bomb up and Al Sah-him covers his eyes, listening for his steps. They’re faint but there. 

He drops to the roof below and chases them, following their sound and lowering his arm. The man drops over the next ledge and Al Sah-him jerks to a stop, reeling back when an arrow comes up towards his face over the side when he’s about to follow, eyes tracking the man running for the next roof ledge. Al Sah-him jumps over the side as the man drops out of sight, quickly closing the distance and following, landing in the alley below. He catches the tail of the man’s robes rounding the left corner and follows, rounding after it-

He grunts quietly as a blade runs through his side, pain spider-webbing out, but snaps a hand forward and grips the man’s hood. He rips it off as the man jerks away, eyes widening when he sees-

 _Malcolm_ , Oliver thinks distantly. The man- Malcolm whirls with another sword swing and Oliver dodges back, barely missing it cutting across his face in his distraction and getting blinded when he doesn’t throw up his forearm in time for the next three flash bombs going off all at once. He coughs a little at the smoke and waves his hand in front of his face while the other comes up to push at the wound in his side, blinking and trying to squint through the smoke. The sound of Malcolm’s steps fade, disappear before Oliver can get a read on where they are other than _ahead_ , and his brows draw low as he presses harder at his side, glaring down the empty alley.

\-----

Slade swings down from the edge of the roof, landing silent on the hotel’s second story walk. He pauses when he catches sight of Joe’s hotel room door cracked open and light off and reaches back for his sword, gripping the hilt as he slowly steps closer. 

He doesn’t hear anything. 

He grips his sword tighter, slowly nudging the door open further with the toe of his boot and stepping inside. His eye catches on Joe sitting to the left at the small table in the dark, back to the wall and eyes shifting from the opposite one to Slade, brows lowered. His duffel bag is sitting on the table, the rest of the room immaculate.

“I thought you’d come by,” Joe says quietly, glaring as he adds, “Eventually.”

Slade steps further into the room, nudging the door shut since he’s still in his gear. Joe’s eyes follow him, still glaring up at him. “You’re leaving,” Slade surmises, glancing briefly to Joe’s bag.

“You were with Oliver,” Joe surmises back. 

Slade’s eye narrows a little and he pulls his mask up and off. “Who I’m with isn’t up to you.”

“He _did this to you!_ ” Joe lets out, hard and angry but trying to keep his voice hushed, jumping to his feet and gesturing at Slade, “Your eye! The serum! You being here! The League! You were trapped on that island for _four years more than you should have been_ and nearly _died **because**_ of him and you’re _still here!_ Chasing after him! _Why?!_ ”

Slade curls his fingers into fists at his sides, in his mask while Joe’s angry eyes search him.

“Don’t tell me you _love_ him,” Joe snarls.

“ _I don’t know_ ,” Slade snaps back, and Joe stills, straightening a little. Slade looks to the window for a moment, heart beating harder. He takes a breath and glares back. “I don’t know,” he repeats lower.

“But it’s _something_ ,” Joe fills in for him like he had before, and Slade’s fingers curl tighter.

“ _Yes_ ,” he grits out. Because it is. He hasn’t bothered looking at it closely, there’s no point. Either it will turn into something more or it won’t. He’s not going to waste time nitpicking over it like a lovestruck teenager, hemming and hawing at it like worrying it threadbare will make a difference. All he knows is it’s similar to how he felt for Adeline when they first met, but tempered by age and experience. His heart doesn’t beat out of his chest like he’s twenty something, he doesn’t think about Oliver constantly, but when Slade’s with him...things are quiet, things are a storm, _both_ , and he doesn’t want to stop feeling either.

“So you’re staying,” Joe says after a tense, silent minute, his own hands balled into fists at his sides. 

The guilt kicks Slade in the ribs and he makes himself breathe through it, nodding once sharply. Joe looks at him another minute. It’s hard to tell, but his eyes look a little red rimmed in the dim light coming through the curtained window.

“I’m not waiting anymore, father,” Joe says low and quiet, sounding more like he did before Slade got stranded on the island, younger and trying to be older. Slade hates that he’s made him sound like that, more than once. 

Joe turns and grabs his bag and walks to the door, yanking it open. He stops in the doorway, like he hopes maybe Slade will say something, or maybe he’ll change his own mind.

“Joe,” Slade says, and Joe turns around, looking over at him, lips pressed together but eyes a little wide. Slade reaches up and tugs his keffiyeh out from under the front of his armor, slowly unwinding it from around his neck while pressure builds in his chest, approaching a ravine he knows he’s not going to be able to claw back out of. He looks at the cloth for a long moment before slowly offering it over, and Joe’s eyes drop down to it. He stares at it for a long minute, jaw clenching even while his face tries to crumple up, and then reaches over and takes it, curls his fingers into it tight. Joe looks up at him again, brows drawn together and eyes rimmed red, then slowly reaches up and winds it around his own neck, shifting it a little while he looks down.

Joe looks at him one more time, for one more long minute, then turns and walks out, leaving the door open behind him. Slade watches his silhouette pass by the window on the way to the stairs and grits his teeth, throat going tight while the backs of his eyes sting. He closes them firmly and takes a slow breath, lets it out even slower, and tries to deal with the deep _ache_ in his chest.

 _It’s better this way_ , he thinks forcefully, the same thing he told himself every time he left Adeline and Joe before Lian Yu, clenching his jaw against the pressure trying to fill- _**everything**_ , every crevice, every nook and cranny between his ribs and heart, the sinew and bones.

This must have been how Joe felt every time he left. It’s only fair that Slade have to deal with it, too.

\-----

Malcolm grits his teeth on a pained grunt as he shoves his robes off and presses at the wound in his shoulder, glaring over at it and checking the damage. He pulls a medkit out of a drawer in the center counter running the length of the hidden room in his penthouse and flips it open, digging out a clean needle.

He drops the needle and thread once he’s done and gets a couple bandages open, pressing them over the stitching in either side of his shoulder and over his side before reaching for his cellphone on the counter and dialling.

“ _Yes?_ ” Moira answers on the third ring.

“I’m upping the timetable,” he replies.

She pauses. “ _How soon?_ ”

Malcolm looks across at the tv on ahead, watching the replay of her speech. She managed to recover the dip in her numbers with sympathy for her daughter finding Deadshot, even though it was on their property. It’ll work.

“ _Malcolm?_ ” Moira asks firmly.

“You’ll know,” he answers, “Stay out of the Glades.” He hangs up, turning his phone over in his hand while he thinks.

 _Abnormal strength, speed, and eyes_.

He frowns, going over the fight earlier. He hasn’t been to Nanda Parbat in ten years, but it seems Ra’s has found a new attack dog, or lost it? He had his suspicions about the ‘Wraith’ vigilante being League, what with the vague glimpses of his attire. He wasn’t wearing it tonight, but the mask was all too familiar, as well as the fighting style. But if he’s here playing vigilante, he’s not doing so on Ra’s orders. Ra’s doesn’t like that kind of publicity, actively discourages it during training. The League is to be _known_ , but not _seen_.

Malcolm purses his lips in thought, setting his phone down and wincing a little when his wounds tug when he shifts.

He might be able to use that to his advantage after the Undertaking.

\-----

Oliver slips in through the tarp covered window, heading straight back for the cot, flipping one of the floodlights on on the way and squinting for a moment at the sudden wash of light. He grabs the medkit on the back of the cot and drags it forward before pushing his hood back and tugging his hoodie zipper down, pulling the whole thing and his mask off and dropping them next to the kit. He flicks the kit’s tabs open and pushes the lid up, getting a needle and thread out and and looking down, glaring a little at the wound in his side, the blood running down and soaking into his pants, smeared across his skin from taking his hoodie off.

 _Careless_ , he reprimands himself harshly, threading the needle and lowering it towards the wound-

A metallic _click_ draws his attention and he whips around, barely dodging a bullet while he throws a knife from out of his pocket, manages to throw it off center enough when he realizes who it is behind him. It embeds in the wall next to Detective Lance’s head, Lance’s eyes wide and gun trained on him.

They stare wide eyed at one another for a long moment before Lance’s eyes narrow and his brows drop, angry, slowly stepping off the stairs and keeping his gun raised. “ _Oliver Queen_ ,” he growls out, shoulders and expression tense, “So you _are_ alive.” His eyes drop down to the scars, the wound, then back up to his eyes, brows drawn together with questions. But the first one that comes out is, “If _you’re_ alive,then _where’s Sara?_ ”

Oliver stills, eyes searching Lance’s while he tries to think- He wasn’t prepared for this happening so soon, if ever-

“ _Where’s my daughter?!_ ” Lance shouts, snapping him out of his thoughts just before the building _rocks_ and they both stumble, eyes darting up as dust shakes loose from the cracks forming in the ceiling. There’s another deep rumble in the earth and they both stumble again while the cracks spread faster with sharp _snap-snap- **cracks**_ , dust littering them and the floor. “What is-” Lance starts. Then there’s a louder, deafening _**CRACK**_ from above and Oliver _moves_ before he can think about it, darting forward. Lance’s eyes snap back to him and Oliver takes the bullet in his shoulder as he runs, shoving Lance _back_ -

The ceiling comes down with a deafening _**CRASH**_ as the building shakes and the floodlights break with shattered glass and screeching metal, the world going deaf and dark as the earth shakes and crumbles.


	26. We’re building it up, to burn it down, we can’t wait to burn it to the ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: makeshift surgery shenanigans

_Half an hour ago_

 

“What is this place?” Shado asks, looking around as she follows Felicity down the old cement stairs, eyes landing on a computer set up near the back wall, three large, angled monitors with black screens on a steel table.

“A second facility, just in case,” Felicity answers, heading over to the monitors and setting her bag down, pulling the swivel chair out and taking a seat before looking back. “Other place was getting crowded, and now we’re being followed.” She shrugs. “Seemed like a good idea.”

Shado stops next to her, watching as Felicity wakes the screens. “And these?” she asks, nodding her chin to them.

“The equipment Wilson helped me get to look into A.R.G.U.S.,” Felicity answers, turning back to her screens and pulling up a program or three of some kind on each one, “My laptop doesn’t have the power, and we figured it’d be a better idea to have these elsewhere, in case A.R.G.U.S. backtracks my routes to our location.” Felicity looks over when she feels eyes on her and blinks back at Shado studying her.

Shado’s lips quirk a little. “And you’re just the head of an I.T. department?” the teases.

Felicity shrugs, ducking her head a little with a small smile. “What can I say? This whole vigilante, spy thing has been improving my skills.”

“Were you able to find anything?” Shado asks after a minute, setting her bag down.

“Some,” Felicity answers, brows drawn together while she concentrates, typing in another coded line, “A.R.G.U.S.’s security is top notch, one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to try and get into. What little I’ve been able to find says they’ve been monitoring a _few_ things in Starling, but I haven’t gotten to the _what_ yet.”

Shado watches for another minute before turning and looking around the room again. The ceilings are a little low and there’s piping running along the off-white walls, the paint chipped and cracked, but the room looks sturdy.

She wanders back over to the stairs, looking up.

As far as she can tell, they’re in an old, abandoned office building of some kind, somewhere not too far from the center of the city. The location is good if they need to run, they’ll be able to blend in with passing traffic and pedestrians easier.

She looks back over to Felicity.

 

_Now_

 

Shado braces a hand on the wall as the ground shakes, eyes darting around.

“ _What’s happening?!_ ” Felicity lets out over the loud rumbling, jerking around in her chair and grabbing onto the desk to try and steady herself, “ _An earthquake?!_ ”

“ _We should go!_ ” Shado calls back, trying to walk back over to the desk and nearly stumbling at a sharper shake, eyes darting up to the dust that shakes loose from the ceiling. She doesn’t hear or see any cracks start, but they should leave anyway.

Felicity grabs her bag and stands, bracing her hand on the desk again. The rumbling slows and then...stops, and they both hold still, staring at one another while they hold their breaths and listen intently.

“Is it over?” Felicity asks hesitantly after a minute.

“Let’s go,” Shado says, quickly walking over and grabbing her bag before leading the way up the stairs and out of the building, Felicity on her heels.

\--

Joe looks around as the earthquake fades, staring wide eyed up at the orange tinted smoke billowing up into the night sky, coming up out of the city. Sirens start up, a chorus of them throughout the city it sounds like, distant but audible. The other people in the airport parking lot stare up, equally dumbstruck. Some start pulling out their phones, calling 911, their families-

 _Father_ , he thinks, heart beating harder as the adrenaline kicks in. He grips the keffiyeh around his neck and then shoves his bag back into the rental car, getting in and turning it on. He puts it in gear and reverses out of the parking spot, tires skidding as he slams on the breaks and rapidly switches gears, speeding out and away from the airport back into the city.

\--

Lance coughs, getting his eyes open- It’s pitch black, he can’t see anything, but he thinks he can hear-

He tries to jerk his gun up as his eyes dart around and it hits something firm halfway, someone grunting above him-

 _Queen_.

Lance looks up, stilling when two green glows stare back.

 _Eyes?_ he thinks incredulously.

“Why are your eyes glowing?” he demands, voice rough. He coughs again, brows drawing down as he shifts- He lets out a sharp grunt when _pain_ splits up his right leg.

“ _Stop. Moving_ ,” Queen growls low, and Lance’s eyes dart up, staring again.

It’s _Oliver Queen_ , Lance saw him with his _own eyes_. His hair was longer and he was covered in scars, and his eyes were- _are_ weird, but it’s him. But he doesn’t sound like the Oliver Queen Lance remembers. His voice was never hard, _nothing_ about him was hard; he was a soft, spoiled kid. Then again, it’s been five years, and apparently that means enough time for spoiled rich kid _Oliver Queen_ to turn into a _killer_.

“Can you see anything?” Lance demands after a minute, reluctantly holstering his gun. He’s sitting up against a wall, probably the one by the stairs, if he had to guess, since Queen came running at him just before the ceiling-

 _The earthquake_.

He listens for a tense moment.

It seems like it’s stopped, at least.

There’s a grunt and Lance focuses again, even though all he can see is that damn eerie green glow from Queen’s- _strange eyes_ above him. _When-? How-? Does it have anything to do with Sara_ -

 _Later_ , he tells himself firmly, forcing it all down, _Once we get out of here and Queen’s **arrested**_.

There’s another grunt and then the iron-tang smell of blood registers through the dust and dirt.

“ _I’m_ _busy_ ,” Queen grunts, voice hard and strained. Lance jolts a little when he remembers-

He digs his small flashlight out of his pocket and flicks it on, Queen squinting in the light when the beam hits his face. Lane shifts it up and- stares.

Queen’s got his gloved hands braced against the wall above Lance’s head, leaning over him on his knees and teeth gritted as he- _holds up the rubble_ with his _bare back_. There’s blood running down his temple into one of his eyes, hair covered in a layer of dust and wound in his right side bleeding profusely, same with the bullet wound in his right shoulder.

“ _How are you doing this?_ ” Lance demands, still staring.

Queen glares hard down at him and Lance is taken back again by the change. Oliver Queen was petulant, got away with everything under the sun and almost never faced the consequences for it. Lance never saw what his daughter- either of them saw in him, but now he’s- His muscles are practically sculpted, standing out where he’s straining to hold up the rubble, his eyes are strange now, green and glowing a little, the scar down his throat looks like it could’ve killed him, _should’ve_ , same with the huge one in his side, not to mention all the smaller ones littering him. Lance thinks of his Sara covered in things like that and presses his lips flat together, making himself focus again.

Queen doesn’t answer him, just turns his head and looks around, breathing a little hard. Queen looks up, glaring up at the rubble above their heads. It’s a big slab at least, not something in danger of raining down on and crushing- Well, not crushing them under millions of pieces. It still might crush them either way.

“Can you move?” Queen grunts low, eerie eyes dropping back down to him.

Lance looks back up, then tries shifting his foot, grunting again at the pain. He drops the flashlight beam to it to find a small boulder pressing his ankle to the floor and grits his teeth, pulling, _pulling_ \- It comes loose and he holds his breath as his ankle throbs and a few pieces of rubble shift, blowing it back out when nothing else happens or comes tumbling down. “Slowly,” he grunts back, glaring up.

Queen looks around again, then back towards Lance’s left, away from the stairs. There’s a tunnel, almost, of big, fallen slabs leaning against the wall. It’s not completely clear, but it’s better than the blocked path of the stairs, which were probably crushed under the onslaught anyway.

“We’re going on three,” Queen says, looking back to him.

Lance drops his eyes to the bleeding wound in Queen’s side, the one in his shoulder, and clenches his jaw, frowning up. “Sure you can do it?” he grunts.

Queen glares down at him, then counts off, “One. Two. Three-”

They both shift and shuffle away from the stairs, both gritting their teeth at their wounds. The slabs shift above them and dust comes down at Lance’s right with a few stray, smaller chunks of cement. They both stop to let the rubble settle, then after a minute of silence, Queen counts off again and they move a second time, pause, then a third, a fourth, pausing between each one to let the cement shift and settle. Lance tries to wipe the dust and sweat out of his eyes, keeping his flashlight beam out of Queen’s face and glancing down to Queen’s blood soaking into his pant leg, leaving a trail across the floor like a crime scene.

“You’re going to die before we get out of here, and then we’ll _both_ be dead,” Lance grits out, glaring up, “And I still have _questions_. We should _wait_.”

“No one knows I’m here,” Queen glares back, “And the earthquake didn’t effect just this building. No one will search for you first.”

Lance frowns, glaring back because- much as he hates to admit it, Queen’s right. First response will be to the populated areas and the calls, neither of which apply to an abandoned steel factory Lance didn’t tell anyone he was coming to stake out tonight.

 _Shit_ , he thinks, huffing a breath when Queen counts off again. This time a slab comes down to their right almost before they’re done moving and Queen stills, sharp and sudden, arms shaking a little as he grits his teeth. Dust rains down again, covering them both in another layer of it.

“We get out of this? I’m still arresting you,” Lance grunts, pulling his injured leg up a little closer.

Queen ignores him, scanning the area around them instead. There’s a slab in the way two feet down, and Lance looks from it back up to him.

“ _Now_ what?” Lance demands, watching him.

Queen’s brows furrow and he shifts his shoulders a little, presumably testing the weight against his back. His jaw clenches and he takes a strained breath, then counts off again. They shuffle a foot and half closer to the block and then Queen tests the rubble again, stilling when something shifts above them with a low, hard _thunk_. He takes another breath and looks down at Lance, eyes hard. “If it falls, move,” he orders.

“Move where-” Lance starts, cutting off when Queen lets go of the wall with his right hand and quickly punches his fist _through the cement_ blocking their way, rapid, once, twice before jerking his hand back up to the wall to brace it again. Dust billows out as the rubble obstructing their way crumbles, the path clear. Something shifts above them again and Queen holds still, sweat starting to drip down his chin, the end of his nose. Queen swallows, breathing harder than earlier, Lance notes distantly, still staring dumbly between Queen and the decimated cement. “You’re going to explain _that_ , too,” Lance says.

Queen ignores him again, barely glancing at him before he counts off.

It’s a slow crawl, but eventually they reach the end of the room with more dust and tiny pieces of rubble raining down on them, another slab falling where they were before the rubble above settles again. Lance is starting to drip almost as much sweat as Queen and Queen’s skin is starting to look too pale for his comfort, considering their surrounded by a building trying to crush them, arms shaking where his gloved palms are pressed flat to the wall and panting hard like he’s run thirty miles.

Queen lets go of the wall with his right hand again, making a fist.

“Let’s hope the other side isn’t covered in cement too,” Lance grunts, panting quietly while he watches, hating every minute of it. He can’t believe he’s relying on _Queen_ to save his _life_.

Queen glares at the wall and then _punches_ his fist through it once, twice, fresh, cool air rushing in and making them both shiver a little when it hits their overheated, sweaty skin. Queen punches the wall again, quickly claws at the hole to make it bigger, wider, tossing pieces of rubble in towards them, straining. Once the hole’s big enough, he braces his hand back on the wall and jerks his chin, glaring down at him.

Lance grunts and moves, crawling out from beneath him into the open night air, sirens wailing- _all over_ in the distance. He gets further away before picking himself up and hobbles over to the next building’s wall that seems to _mostly_ still be standing before looking back to the hole, waiting-

Queen throws himself out of it, rolling quickly as the cement comes crashing down from inside with a deafening _**crash**_ and _**rumble**_ , like a landslide going down a mountain, rubble dust chasing him out. Queen stops and lays on his back, panting hard and chest heaving, eyes closed. Lance hobbles over as he digs his cuffs and gun out and lowers himself down, latching a cuff onto Queen’s wrist. Queen’s eyes snap open, darting up, and Lance points his gun at his head. Queen might have super strength, or _something_ , but Lance doubts a bullet to the head is going to be _ineffective_.

“I told you-” he starts, cutting off when Queen moves, sharp and quick, faster than Lance thought he _could_ move in his condition, twisting his wrist out of Lance’s grip and his cuffs out of his hand while Lance fires, the bullet lodging into the cement. Queen gets an arm under his chin and presses at the back of his head with his free hand, holding him tight while Lance struggles against him, trying to breathe. His vision starts going black at the edges and-

Oliver holds onto Lance for another few seconds after he stops struggling and goes loose, then lowers him to the ground, digging Lance’s phone out of his pocket. He hits the first speed dial and waits. A man’s voice answers, urgent but low and restrained. Oliver drops the phone on Lance’s stomach and pushes himself up while he rips the cuff off, pocketing them and pressing a hand to the wound in his side while he grits his teeth and makes himself start walking.

\--

Moira rushes into the house, throwing open both front doors and not waiting for her bodyguards to catch up. “Thea?!” she calls out, frantic, searching the living room before running straight up the stairs to her daughter’s room, throwing the door open. “ _Thea?!_ ”

The room’s empty, light off and no sign of her.

Moira hurries back out into the hall while pulling her cellphone out, trying her daughter’s number _again_. It rings and rings and she flags down one of the house workers coming down the other end of the hall. “Have you seen Mr. Diggle?” she asks urgently, still listening for the line to pick up on the other end.

“No, ma’am,” the young man - Tim, was his name - replies, shaking his head, brows drawing worriedly together.

“Thea?” Moira asks next, making out _frustrated_ sound when she just gets sent to voicemail _again_ , hanging up and trying _Diggle’s_ number a third time.

“No, ma’am,” Tim repeats, watching her and fidgeting a little.

Moira hurries back to the stairs, listening intently for the other line-

\--

Diggle clenches his jaw when he feels his phone vibrate in his inner pocket again, hands tightening on the steering wheel while he tries to get the car past all the rubble and damage, the fallen phone lines, fires, the people running out into the street.

“You need to answer it,” he says firmly, “It’s probably your mother again.”

“ _No_ ,” Thea replies firmly from the passenger seat, eyes focused on the destruction they maneuver past, searching, “She’ll just tell me to come back.”

“She’ll send someone after both of us if you don’t talk to her,” Diggle warns, darting his eyes over.

Thea’s brows draw together while she worries her lower lip, then she digs her phone out of her pocket and calls her mother, listening to the line ring. It picks up with an urgent, “ _Thea?!_ ” and she grimaces a little at the guilt that presses at her insides, forcing it aside.

“I’m fine, mom,” she says quickly, “I’m with Mr. Diggle. We’re both fine.”

“ _Then why weren’t you answering?!_ ” her mother lets out, worry so audible, it’s- surreal to hear. Her mother almost never loses her composure.

“Because-” Thea doesn’t have an excuse. “Because I’m looking for Ollie,” she answers, hushed and urgent with a glance over at Diggle, trying to at least keep his cover intact, for now. He looks back and she shrugs a little.

“ _Thea!_ ” her mother lets out again before her voice goes hushed too, “ _I’m just as worried about him as you are but you should **not be out there looking for him!** Come home!_ ”

“No!” Thea shouts back, “I’m not leaving him out here alone!”

“ _He’s not alone!_ ” her mother shouts.

“ _YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!_ ” Thea lets out, jabbing the ‘end’ button and shoving her phone roughly into her pocket with gritted teeth. She takes a breath to try and settle her nerves back down, then darts her eyes back over to Diggle. “How much longer until we’re there?” she asks, voice hard and strained while she tries not to shift restlessly in her seat.

“We’re just about-” Diggle answers after a pause, looking forward again, then he stops, the car jerking to a stop with him. Her eyes snap forward, then widen when she sees-

She rips her seatbelt off and shoves the passenger door open, getting out and sprinting forward-

“ _Ollie!_ ”

His head jerks up a little, stopping with a hand braced on a building wall. He squints through the hazy eye that doesn’t have blood in it, still trying to catch his breath and staring as- _Thea_ runs at him? He sees her smaller for a minute, short and in pigtails- and then she _slams_ into him, tall and a lot stronger than he remembers, and he grunts as he’s knocked back a bit with the force of it, gripping the wall tighter for support as the pain in his right shoulder and side spikes from dull to _sharp_ and _insistent_.

 _She’s here_ , Oliver thinks distantly through the static, the blood loss as her arms wrap around and grip him tight, _She’s_ -

“You’re not- supposed to be here,” he gets out, voice rough from all the rubble dust and fingers tightening against the wall, “You’re-”

“ _I don’t care!_ ” Thea snaps back, cutting him off. She pulls away just enough to look up at him, eyes hard and _angry_ and brows drawn low together, “ _I don’t care, Ollie_.” And then the hardness melts away from her face almost as quickly as it came and she’s just- his worried little sister, eyes wide and starting to go red around the edges as they shine in the nearby fire light, brows angling up helplessly. The same baby sister he used to read to, make origami with, take care of when his parents were too busy. The one that used to follow him around and he’d make Christmas decorations with before the big family party, the ones they’d put in their rooms because it didn’t go with the socialite highlife.

“ _Ollie_ ,” she says, voice wavering as her lower lip trembles a little, tears welling. She jerks forward and hugs him again, tighter than before and he holds in a pained grunt, keeping his hand pressed to the wound in his side and his other on the wall for balance. He lowers his head a little, staring down at the rubble and fire on the sidewalk while his heart beats faster. He swallows.

“You’re getting dirty,” he mumbles, eyelids drooping a little with the exhaustion still trying to seep down into his bones. He blinks them back open, trying to force the lethargy away.

“ _ **I don’t care**_ ,” she repeats, quiet but firm, muffled into his shoulder while squeezing him tighter.

The backs of his eyes start to sting a little and he swallows past his closing throat. After a minute, he slowly lets go of the wall and- cautiously wraps his arm around her back, squeezing her a little. He feels her sniffle against his shoulder and guilt squeezes his chest. He closes his eye firmly and squeezes her a little tighter, careful not to- hurt her. She’s not trained like Shado, doesn’t have the mirakuru like Slade. He can feel the knobs of her spine beneath his arm, how small and fragile her ribcage is like a bird, even though she’s older now, taller. She’s so much more...breakable, and he’s-

And he’s a killer, tried to kill her _and_ his mother.

He clenches his jaw hard, squeezing his eyes shut against the guilt. The sound of steps draws his attention and he drags his eyes open, slanting them over. Diggle stares back, brows drawn together and expression tense. “I hate to interrupt, but we need to go, and you look like you’re about to fall over any second.”

He’s not wrong.

Oliver reluctantly makes himself pull back. It takes Thea a few seconds longer, but she slowly lets go, not completely, but enough. She drags one of his arms over her shoulders while looking worriedly at the blood smeared across his shoulder and waist, still seeping out of his wounds. Diggle steps close and gets his other arm, and the two of them lead him to headlights shining blinding up ahead.

“What happened?” Diggle asks, gesturing for Thea to get the back door. She lets go with a quick look at Oliver and then runs ahead, opening and holding the door open.

“Factory collapsed,” Oliver answers quietly, attention already slipping while his eyelids droop and the exhaustion sweeps through him again, hard and heavy and tempting. He’s not going to be awake much longer. “Saved Lance.”

Diggle looks over sharply while helping him into the backseat, and Oliver collapses onto his side with a low, pained grunt. “ _Detective_ Lance? He saw you?” Diggle asks, drawing Oliver’s attention back when it starts slipping again, getting his good eye open and looking over.

“He won’t talk,” Oliver mumbles, letting it slide closed again.

“What makes you so sure?” Diggle asks, frowning.

“He wants...answers,” Oliver gets out. He barely hears the back door shut after a moment and feels thin fingers lightly brush across his temple before he’s sinking under.

Diggle taps his bluetooth on while he gets back in the car and gets them moving again, steering around the rubble and trying to angle them back towards the center of the city where the damage seems to have missed.

“ _Hello?_ ” he hears, quick and urgent in his ear.

“Felicity?” he asks.

She blows out a breath on the other end with a relieved, “ _ **Dig!** You’re alright?_ ”

“Yeah,” he answers, glancing to Thea in the passenger seat who’s still looking over the back at her brother, “I’ve got Thea and Oliver with me. He’s injured and out cold.”

Felicity blows out another breath. “ _Okay. I’ll let Wilson know. He just called a few minutes ago_.”

“You and Shado okay?” Diggle asks, focusing back on the road.

“ _Yeah, we’re fine. The quake mostly missed our location_ ,” Felicity answers. “ _We need to meet up_ ,” she adds.

Diggle glances into the backseat, over at Thea’s worried face, then back to the road. “I’m probably going to regret this too,” he mutters quietly, then, louder, “My place.”

“ _Are you sure?_ ” Felicity asks, hesitant.

“You’ve had enough troubles at yours,” Diggle replies, “And I’ve got supplies to treat wounds.”

“ _Okay_ ,” she returns, then it goes quiet and Diggle focuses on navigating the destruction.

\--

“Laurel!”

She whirls around, eyes landing on him. “Tommy!” she lets out, running to meet him, throwing her arms around him as he throws his own around her.

“Are you alright?!” Tommy asks urgently, pulling back and gripping the sides of her face, checking her over.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Joanna and I made it out before the ceiling collapsed,” Laurel answers quickly, checking him over just the same, “We managed to get everyone out.”

Tommy blows out a relieved breath and then pulls her back in, hugging her tight. “I’m _glad_.”

“Are _you_ alright?” she returns, pulling back enough to look at him again, worried eyes searching his face.

“Yeah. I was in my office going over reports for next week,” he answers, brushing a hand through the side of her hair, “It seems like the quake mostly hit the Glades.”

Laurel’s brows draw together and she looks around, taking in the damage. The fires, the sirens, the collapsed and caved in buildings, the people standing up and down the street staring forlornly and confused around at the devastation, everyone covered in dust and dirt. He’s right. The damage seems to mostly be from here onwards where the Glades-...start. Is that-

Her phone vibrates in her pocket and she jolts out of her thoughts, digging it out and answering it with a frown when she sees the number, worry climbing up her throat and making her numb. “Lucas?” she asks worriedly, “Is my father-”

“ _He’s fine_ ,” her father’s partner reassures her quickly, voice low and calming even when he still sounds tense, “ _He’s in the hospital for a- nearly broken ankle, not quite. I didn’t catch the technical term, but other than that, some bruising, breathing in a little too much dust and dehydration, he’s **fine**. I just wanted to let you know_.”

Laurel lets out a relieved breath, eyes closing. “Oh, thank god. _Thank you_ ,” she says sincerely.

“ _No problem_ ,” Lucas replies, “ _He’s in Starling General, room 308_.”

“Thank you,” she repeats, hanging up after he does.

“Everything okay?” Tommy asks, eyes worried when she looks over.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Laurel answers, snapping out of the shock of the scare a bit, “My dad’s just got a ‘nearly broken ankle’. He’s in the hospital.”

“You should go see him,” Tommy says, cradling her elbows.

“What about you?” she asks back.

“I need to find my father,” Tommy answers, brows drawn together, “I couldn’t find him at the office and I was worried about you since you work in the Glades. But I’m sure he’s probably fine. He never comes up here.”

Laurel nods, returning the kiss Tommy gives her before letting him pull away. She watches him go for a minute before what he said finally sinks in, and she slowly frowns, turning that thought over.

“ _He never comes here.”_

_“Malcolm...went away for a while, right?”_

_“After his wife passed away, yes_.”

His wife who was shot and killed in...the Glades.

Laurel slowly turns, looking out at the smoke still billowing up towards the stars, brows drawn together.

Maybe she’s just being paranoid from all the vigilante business.

She frowns a little more, slowly dropping her eyes back to the street.

But she’s got her father’s officer gut, and that’s one _hell_ of a coincidence. Thea, who’s tied up with the vigilantes somehow, asking about Malcolm just a day before the Glades go up in smoke, where his wife was murdered.

Laurel brings her phone back up and opens her contacts list, dialing the Queen home and raising it to her ear. She needs to check on Thea anyway.

\--

Diggle parks his car in the parking garage and shuts it off, then hands Thea his keys. “I’ll get him,” he says. She nods firmly, taking his keys and both of them getting out. Diggle gets the back door open while he scans the garage to make sure it’s empty, then kneels into the back, pulling Oliver out as little as possible before picking him up, grimacing a little at the blood smeared all over him and the backseat. Diggle nudges the back door closed with his hip before nodding his chin towards the parking garage elevator and hurrying over to it with Thea in tow, Thea’s worried eyes dropping back to her brother, only dragging away long enough to press the button for the elevator. The doors slide open and they both quickly get inside.

“Six,” Diggle instructs. She presses the button and the doors close, and they start heading up.

When they eventually come to a stop and the doors open again, Thea glances out and around first to make sure the hallway’s clear before darting down to the door number that goes with the one on the apartment key, quickly getting it unlocked with a little fiddling and pushing it open. She looks back down to the elevator while Diggle quickly jogs out, scanning the halls until he’s in the dark of his apartment and Thea’s shut and locked the door behind them. He takes Oliver over to his couch and lays him down while Thea flicks on the lights, then jogs to the hallway bathroom and grabs the medkit out from under the sink, jogging back. He gets it open on the coffee table while taking a seat on the edge of the couch and pulls some sanitizer wipes out, tearing the small packet open and working on cleaning the wound in Oliver’s side. He needs to close that one first, since it’s bleeding the most. The bullet still in his shoulder is going to have to wait.

Diggle drops the red stained wipes in the medkit lid when the wound’s as clean as it’s going to get and grabs a new, clean needle, threading it. He bends down and pushes the need through Oliver’s skin, Thea making a low gagging sound behind him, hand covering her mouth. “Do you know what you’re doing?” she asks, voice muffled a little.

“The army taught me some,” Diggle answers distractedly, working on closing the wound up, “Not much, but enough for something like these.”

He works quietly for a few minutes, gets the wound sewn up and ties it off before putting a bandage over it and un-threading the needle, setting it in the medkit. He reaches for Oliver to try and roll him over and Thea jolts forward to try and help, getting his legs. She stops and sucks in a breath when she finally notices the heavy scarring in Oliver’s side, then jerks back into motion when Diggle clears his throat, heaving a breath. They finally manage to get Oliver turned over and Diggle reaches for another wipe, cleaning the area around the exit wound in his side before dropping it and grabbing the needle again, threading it.

“He’s...covered in-...” Thea trails off, hand covering her mouth again. Diggle spares her a glance, sees her eyes going red around the edges and looks back down, focusing on the task at hand.

“I’m not the person to ask,” he answers, low and honest, “I don’t know much about what he’s been through.”

“Wilson wouldn’t tell me,” she says quietly, slowly lowering her hand back down, “He said...He said to wait for Ollie to tell me, if and when he did, that he might never say anything. I thought I understood, but I didn’t think he meant…” She trails off again, eyes slowly going over the scars, down the tattoo along the center of her brother’s back to the- _brand_ peeking up out of the top of his pants. What kind of person _**brands**_ someone?

Her fingers curl into tight fists as she glares at it, anger building like pressure about to blow in her chest.

“Do you know _who_ did this to my brother?” she demands, not angry at Mr. Diggle but just- _**angry**_.

“The guy who runs the League of Assassins,” Diggle answers, still focused on closing the wound, “Your brother was with them for a while.”

“‘League of Assassins’?” Thea asks incredulously, “Sounds like a terrible game villain group.”

Diggle huffs a faint laugh at that.

He gets the wound closed and a bandage over it, then gestures for her to help turn Oliver back over. Once he’s on his back again, Diggle cleans around the bullet wound with another wipe and then searches in the kit for some tweezers, tearing open the new package and pulling them out. He braces a hand on Oliver’s chest and glances up at his face, frowning. He didn’t react at all for the stitching, but this is different.

“Don’t kill me,” Diggle mutters, then drops his eyes back down and slowly digs the tweezers into the wound. Oliver twitches once, a little bit, and Diggle freezes, eyes darting up to his face. When Oliver doesn’t do anything else, he looks back down and slowly digs the tweezers in further, only stopping once he hits something metal. He gets the teezers around it after a little maneuvering and slowly pulls the bullet out while Thea makes a quiet, muffled gagging noise behind him again, dropping the bullet in the medkit lid with the tweezers before reaching for the wipes and needle and thread. He gets the wound closed up in a fraction of the time the other two took and presses a bandage over it, then sits back and sighs, finally letting the tension slowly bleed out of his shoulders.

“He’s really-...pale,” Thea observes quietly after a minute, eyes worried and brows drawn together.

“Not much I can do about that,” Diggle answers apologetically, looking over and up at her, “But that serum he has, it should hopefully take care of things now that he’s not bleeding everywhere.”

Her eyes flick to him briefly before landing back on Oliver and Diggle gets up, gathering the kit and trash and shuffling out of the way. She quickly fills in his spot on the edge of the couch, taking Oliver’s closest hand and folding it in hers, glove and all. Diggle watches them for a moment, something finally settling in him since- Andy, and he heads over into the kitchen to toss the wrappers and used wipes in the trash, cleaning off the tweezers and pocketing the bullet to dispose of elsewhere.

He’s just finished up and put the kit back away in the bathroom when there’s a knock on his door. He cautiously heads over, sharing a glance with Thea while settling a hand on his gun beneath his suit jacket, leaning close to look through the peephole. He pauses and pulls back, unlocking the door and pulling it open. Joe quickly steps inside, eyes sweeping the room. “Have you seen my-” he stops when they land on Oliver and Thea, brows furrowing as he stares at her, “Who are you?”

Thea’s brows drop. “His sister,” she answers low, nodding her chin towards Oliver as she glares back, “Who are _you?_ ”

“Joe Wilson,” Joe answers, frowning.

She pauses, frowning too. “Mr. Wilson’s-?”

“Yeah,” Joe answers with a huff, dropping his duffel to the floor and looking around again. He doesn’t see his father anywhere. His eyes land back on Oliver, then the girl. She’s a slip of a thing and looks about his own age, with long, wavy brown hair and dark blue eyes, almost hazel. Honestly, she doesn’t look much like her brother at all.

“Thea Queen,” she introduces herself back, watching him warily.

Joe inclines his head a little and then looks over to Diggle. “Have you heard from my father?” he asks.

“Felicity said he called her before we got here. He’s probably on his way,” Diggle answers, locking the door and heading back towards the kitchen, “Water?”

“Sure,” Joe answers, crossing his arms. His eyes inevitably land back on Oliver, passed out and bleeding, _again_. “What’s the story this time?” he asks, accepting the glass from Diggle when he comes back over and hands it to him.

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Thea asks, sharp and defensive, eyes darting back over to him.

Joe looks back as he finishes taking a sip, gesturing to Oliver with his glass. “This is the second time I’ve shown up to him bleeding and passed out.” Her eyes widen a little at that and he feels a flicker of guilt, averting his eyes briefly before looking back.

“He said the factory came down on him,” Diggle answers, taking a sip of his own water as he sets a glass down next to Thea on the coffee table. Both her and Joe’s eyes shift over before hers move back to her brother. “Said he saved Detective Lance, too.”

Thea’s eyes dart up. “Laurel’s dad? How did _he_ find Oliver?”

Diggle shrugs, brows furrowing. “I would’ve thought A.R.G.U.S. would find him first. I’m surprised Lance was apparently even in the Glades.”

“That doesn’t-” Thea stops and they both look over while she stares at the couch arm. She lets go of her brother’s hand with one and digs her phone out, sending a quick text and feeling a little guilty for not answering Roy’s previous ones, but she’ll deal with that later. She wasn’t in the mood to talk, and then everything-

Her phone vibrates, drawing her attention back, and she lets out a relieved breath when she sees the reply. _He’s okay_. With all of her focus on the assassin and Laurel and Oliver, and then dealing with her mother, she didn’t have much room in her for anything else at the time. She sends off another text, brows furrowing a little.

“Who are you texting?” Diggle asks.

“Roy,” Thea answers, “We met at the police station where he’d been arrested by Laurel’s dad. And now he shows up _in_ the Glades after Roy started meeting with Wilson?” She shakes her head while Joe and Diggle’s brows lower.

It’s quiet for a minute, then her phone vibrates and she reads it.

“He says he doesn’t know,” she answers, brows still furrowed. She sends one more text back before pocketing her phone. “I don’t think he’s lying. Maybe Lance was using him to try and get the vigilantes?”

“It’d make sense,” Diggle replies, sharing a look with Joe, “Catch and release.”

“Except he wasn’t counting on an earthquake,” Joe replies, drawing their eyes over. He frowns. “I thought this city didn’t get earthquakes?” Thea’s eyebrows climb a little and he shrugs. “I did my homework before coming here.”

“It doesn’t, to my knowledge,” Diggle answers, “But it’s not like the League _caused_ it, and A.R.G.U.S. might have the technology, I wouldn’t put it past them, but they’re in the business of _preventing_ widespread disasters, not creating them.”

They’re quiet again, thinking it over, and then there’s a sharp, hard knock at the door and all their eyes dart to it. Joe crouches and gets his bag open, pulling his sword out while Diggle rests his hand back on his gun, approaching the door and looking through the hole again. He straightens and unlocks it, pulling it open as he steps aside.

Slade stalks in, eye sweeping the room. They land on Diggle first, then Oliver, then Thea, then-

He pauses, frowning. “I thought you left?”

Joe huffs, standing back up and gripping his sword tighter. “The city _exploded_ after I got to the airport. I was...worried,” he forces out, looking away, then dragging his eyes back. His father’s expression eases a little as he looks at him over the tops of his sunglasses, Diggle shutting and locking the door again behind him.

“I’m surprised you used the front door,” Diggle comments, crossing his arms.

“Almost didn’t,” Slade grunts, dragging his eye away from Joe back to Oliver. “But there’s too many police out.” He steps closer to the couch and sets his bag down at the end of it below the armrest, eye shifting to Thea. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“And like I told Ollie,” she starts, glaring back, “ _I don’t care_. I’m here. I’m _staying_.” The ‘ _deal with it_ ’ goes unsaid, and Joe’s lips twitch a little.

Slade glares back and then looks to Oliver again, scanning over his wounds. “What happened?”

“Factory collapsed,” Diggle answers, “He said he saved Detective Lance, so that cat’s out of the bag.” Slade’s lips flatten. There’s another knock at the door and they all look over while Diggle heads to check through the hole again, unlocking and pulling the door open one more time. Felicity and Shado walk in, Shado heading straight for the couch while Felicity huffs out a breath.

“Good news is we weren’t followed,” she says, setting her bag down next to the armchair and walking over to the grab the tv remote.

“And the bad news?” Joe asks, crossing his arms and raising a brow.

Felicity turns the tv on and they all look over, taking in the report as the camera pans over the Glades from above. It’s on fire, a lot of it, the rest is just- rubble and collapsed buildings and sunken in holes, sparking telephone pole wires.

“ _This report comes to you live from Starling City 7 News. The devastation caused by the recent, massive earthquake seems to have been mostly isolated to The Glades, however The Glades themselves seem to have nearly been completely destroyed. We’re still getting reports of injuries and casualties and have no current count available for the lives lost and flooding the hospitals all throughout Starling City._ ”

Slade moves over to the side of the couch around Shado while everyone watches the news report, peeling each bandage back briefly to get a look at the wounds, drawing her eyes down. They both frown at the one in Oliver’s side, Shado and him sharing a look.

“It’s terrible,” Felicity says quietly, eyes focused on the tv and going red around the edges, “All those people…”

It’s quiet for a minute, then Slade speaks up, “These wounds are strange,” drawing their eyes back.

“Why?” Felicity asks, voice a little hoarse.

Slade looks over to Diggle. “You said these were from the factory collapsing?”

Diggle shakes his head. “I know what it looks like, but that’s all Oliver said before he passed out.”

“Why?” Thea asks, frowning over at him, “What is it?”

“The bullet was probably from Lance,” Shado answers, “But-”

“-This one is from a sword,” Slade finishes for her as he points at the wound in Oliver’s side, lips flattening.

“The League?” Felicity asks, jerking upright.

“That’s what I was guessing,” Diggle replies, “But…”

“But he would have gotten warning from Sara, wouldn’t he?” Shado asks low and private, looking over at Slade again.

“Unless she didn’t know,” he answers, frowning in thought, “But it could still be someone else.”

“I’ll check his GPS location history,” Felicity says, heading over to her bag, “See if I can find some security footage from the area. It’ll give me something to focus on other than all...this.” She gestures at the tv with a hand before digging her laptop out, taking a seat in the armchair and settling it on her lap, pushing the lid up.

Diggle looks around at everyone crowded in his living room, arms still crossed, then breaths out a sigh. “Anyone wanna help me make food?”

\--

“ _Hello?_ ” Moira Queen’s urgent voice comes over the line.

“Mrs. Queen?” Laurel asks, getting into her car (that thankfully made it out mostly unscathed. It turns on, at least. That’s the important part), “It’s Laurel Lance.”

“ _Oh, Laurel_ ,” Moira replies, sounding simultaneously a little put-off and surprised.

“Is Thea okay?” Laurel asks, putting her phone on speaker to get her seatbelt on.

“ _Yes, she’s fine_ ,” Moira sighs, “ _She’s staying with a friend tonight. I don’t want her out in all this. Are you alright? You work near the Glades, right?_ ”

“We all made it out okay, but our building’s ceiling came down.” Laurel lets out her own exhausted sigh.

“ _I’m very sorry to hear that. I’m glad you’re alright_ ,” Moira replies.

“Are you alright?” Laurel asks after a beat, settling back into her seat and listening to the quiet _thunk_ of something hitting another something over and over under her car’s hood. That’s probably not good.

“ _As well as can be expected_ ,” Moira replies quieter, “ _This devastation is…_ ”

They’re both quiet for a minute, absorbing it all over again.

“ _How’s Tommy?_ ” Moira breaks it.

“He’s fine,” Laurel answers a little awkwardly. She was mostly calling to try and find out about Thea. The last time her and Moira really spoke was...before the funerals, minus that time at the hospital. “He went looking for his father.”

“ _Malcolm_ ,” Moira says, voice going a little strained. Laurel frowns. “ _I hope Tommy finds him alright_.”

“I think he will,” Laurel replies, keeping the frown out of her voice, “Anyway. I just wanted to check in on Thea. With everything going on...I was worried.”

“ _Thank you for your concern_ ,” Moira replies, more relaxed again, “ _I’ll let her know that you called_.”

“Thank you,” Laurel replies, then Moira hangs up and Laurel does the same, frowning at her phone.

That’s the second time someone’s acted strange about Malcolm, and Thea isn’t home, which wouldn’t be too weird for a nineteen year old, but with the vigilante connection and now Malcolm Merlyn...

Laurel slips her phone back into her pocket and checks the street and her mirrors before pulling out, heading for the hospital.

\--

“ _Dad_ ,” Tommy breathes out, stepping out of the elevator and into the dark penthouse, “You’re alright?”

Malcolm stands over by the windows in a suit, silhouetted by the distant fires and orange tinted smoke wafting up into the night sky over the darkened city, looking out at it with a glass of scotch in his hand. He takes a sip.

“I’m perfectly fine,” he answers, lips curling up just a little where Tommy can’t see.

\-----

Lyla Michaels stares up at about where John Diggle’s apartment is and pulls her phone out, dialing her boss and raising it to her ear without looking away. “Harbinger reporting,” she says when the line picks up, “The people we know about have gone in, as well as potentially a few more unknowns. Do you want me to move in?”

“ _No_ ,” Waller replies, “ _Let’s wait a little longer and see how this plays out_.”

The line _clicks_ and Lyla hangs up, lips pressing together as she watches the building. She can’t see the apartment itself from the front, but she knows where it is.

 _What’ve you gotten yourself into, Johnny?_ she thinks, holding in a sigh.


	27. Tuning into each other

Oliver stirs a little, sucks in a breath and squeezes his eyes shut before slowly blinking them open, staring up at-...a dark ceiling. He slowly slants his eyes to the right, finds- the back of a couch and slants them left, doing a slow sweep of the room. His eyes catch on Thea curled up in an armchair past the end of the couch by the wall, small under the large blanket laid out over her and curled around her hands up by her mouth, lips parted a little as she breathes quietly, asleep. Something shifts up above him and he tilts his head back, darting his eyes up as fast as he currently can while he tenses, relaxing again when he sees-

 _Slade_.

Oliver closes his eyes, blowing out a slow breath. The pain in his side has dulled again, he almost can’t feel it, but he hasn’t tried moving. He still feels like he had a building dropped on him, worn out in ways he hasn’t felt in a long time, down to his bones, maybe deeper. He gets his eyes open again and watches Slade round the head of the couch, taking a seat on the coffee table to his left. He’s dressed in his civilian clothes, black jeans and tank top, leather jacket and keffiyeh missing. He looks...unharmed.

“Where am I?” Oliver whispers, eyes darting briefly to Thea then back.

“Diggle’s,” Slade whispers in return, “Everyone else left a few hours after I got here. They’re fine.”

Oliver closes his eyes again, absorbing that, then opens them and looks back. “Malcolm Merlyn is League.”

“We know,” Slade answers, brows drawing together, “Smoak caught him stabbing you on a security camera before wiping the footage. Getting sloppy, kid.”

Oliver huffs quietly, ignoring the small spike of pain in his side and closing his eyes. “Caught off guard.”

Slade snorts quietly and Oliver’s lips twitch faintly. After everything, it’s...good to hear.

“Everyone’s reconvening in the morning,” Slade whispers after a minute, drawing Oliver’s gaze back. Slade turns a little and looks back over his shoulder at Thea, then to Oliver. “She refused to leave.”

Oliver holds in a sigh, looking over at her. She looks younger when she’s sleeping, or maybe that’s just his age old bias. “I didn’t want her near this.” _Near me_ , he thinks.

“I didn’t want Joe coming to find me,” Slade replies, smirking faintly, dryly, “We don’t always get what we want.”

“Are you telling me to deal with this,” Oliver says instead of asks, because that’s exactly what Slade’s doing.

Slade just raises a brow a little and Oliver closes his eyes, turning his head away a bit. He hears Slade shift, then feels a hand cup the side of his face, turning it back. Oliver opens his eyes, only to close them again when Slade’s lips meet his. It’s not hard like most of their kisses, or intent, just- there, a...comfort, more than anything. Oliver’s fingers curl a little as he returns it, pushing his head up into it a little. Slade’s thumb rubs his cheekbone and Oliver reaches up, careful of his shoulder, just- holding onto Slade’s wrist, letting himself hold onto Slade’s wrist. The kiss trails off, and he’s glad because his eyes start to sting, the sting getting worse when Slade presses their foreheads together. It’s too-... _gentle_. It’s hard to swallow.

He listens to Slade breathe, focuses on the sound of it, the feel of Slade’s hot breaths puffing gently against his upper lip, squeezing his wrist a little tighter. Slade starts to pull back after a few minutes and Oliver grips his wrist firmly, keeping his eyes shut like a coward. He hears Slade huff a breath and shift, hears movement for a few seconds before it settles, finally opening his eyes. Slade’s sitting on the floor in front of the couch, leaning his side into it with his arm resting up on the cushions, just watching Oliver in the quiet while he gently rubs his thumb back and forth over Oliver’s cheek.

Oliver’s brows draw together a little and he closes his eyes again, turning his face a little away, down into the couch. But he doesn’t let go of Slade’s wrist and Slade’s hand doesn’t move away, just stays where it is. Oliver’s eyes sting again and his throat goes tight. He tries to swallow past it but the- the gentle touches, the _patience_ , the-...Slade doesn’t leave. It makes his chest warm, too warm, makes his heart beat harder and the tears well, spill over even though he keeps his eyes tightly shut. It’s mortifying, but Slade’s hand just shifts enough to wipe the closest tears away with his thumb, and Oliver sucks in a quiet breath before pressing his lips firmly together, gritting his teeth.

All of his training, all of the hell he went through, five years of pain and loss and discipline, and it turned him hard. He wasn’t prepared for it when he first got to Lian Yu, how hard he’d have to become to survive, and then harder still when he joined the League. And now it’s- it’s the opposite problem. Gentleness and _care_ bring him to his knees, a hot, warm knife he can’t parry or deflect away from his insides, turning everything unbearably warm, a forest fire trying to burn him up from the inside out. It’s not something he can attack, not now, all it’ll do is destroy him, too.

He slowly rolls onto his uninjured side, towards Slade. Slade wipes more of his tears away and Oliver curls up, gripping Slade’s wrist tight.

\-----

Lance blinks his eyes open, squinting in the dim glow of morning light at a white ceiling. He drops his gaze and slowly looks around, eyes landing on Laurel asleep in a chair next to his hospital bed, head dropped down at an angle that’s definitely going to ache when she wakes up. There’s some dirt on her disheveled clothes, smudged a little below her jaw where she must’ve missed cleaning it off.

Lance’s heart warms and melts in his chest.

He keeps quiet, letting her rest, just watching her for a few minutes and reassuring himself she’s _alright_ before closing his eyes for most of the rest, drifting in and out of a doze. It doesn’t take more than half an hour before her eyes flutter and slowly blink open, followed by a yawn and a stretch, arms going up high above her head. She rubs at her neck with a hand after they lower, sleepy eyes finding his. She stills and they widen, then she quickly shifts forward in her seat, taking his hand. “ _Dad_.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he replies, clearing his voice quietly when it comes out rough and scratchy. Probably from all that dust and sleep.

Laurel blows out a breath, both hands folded around his own. “How are you feeling?”

“Been better, been worse,” he replies with a small shrug.

“What were you doing that got you that ‘nearly broken ankle’ down there during the earthquake?” she asks, raising a brow with a meaningful glance down towards the end of the bed.

He looks down, frowning when he notices the brace on his ankle. “I was just-” he stills when it all finally hits him again: the Queen Steel Factory, _Oliver Queen_ , the _strength_ \- Queen _choke holding him_ -

“Dad?” Laurel asks, snapping him out of his thoughts, eyes darting over.

“I was just...checking a lead,” he finishes, “Got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Which is all true, even if it’s not the _whole_ truth.

“Up in the Glades?” Laurel asks, brows drawing low together a little, “Was it the vigilante?”

“Yeah,” Lance sighs, because he doesn’t- he doesn’t want to _lie_ to her, but he can’t tell her about Queen, or-...or Sara, yet, not until he knows more. “Didn’t catch him.”

Laurel squeezes his hand, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. “I’m just glad you’re _okay_ ,” she replies, and he smiles a little, gripping her fingers back.

“You too,” he returns.

Her phone pings after a minute and she sits up a little, letting go with a hand to pull it out and turn the screen on. She lets out a breath and texts something back before putting it away again.

“Boyfriend?” Lance asks.

Laurel gives him a look. “His name is _Tommy_ , as you well know by now, and yes. He was looking for his father last night because he was worried, but just said he found him in his penthouse ‘as unflappable as usual’.”

Lance huffs, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. “Rich people,” he mutters. She shoves at his arm a little and his lips twitch, her own curling up back.

\-----

Thea jerks a little awake, blinking before yawning and slowly sitting up, stretching and letting the blanket fall to her lap as she looks around, lowering her arms. What woke-

Shado- the woman from Wilson’s phone smiles small over at her as she closes and locks the apartment door behind her, setting her bag down and looking over at Oliver. Thea follows her gaze, sitting up a little more.

He’s sleeping, but he’s curled up on his side now.

“He must be feeling a little better if he moved,” Shado says quietly, drawing her eyes back.

“You think?” Thea asks, voice hushed. Shado smiles over at her again.

Her and Shado talked some last night, and Ms. Smoak- Felicity. Apparently Shado was with Oliver and Wilson on the island but they all got separated in a ship explosion, and on that ship is where...Oliver got the two biggest scars on him, and Wilson’s eye was...damaged. Shado’s a lot nicer than Wilson, if still vague about things. It’s not nearly as much as _he_ is, at least.

“Joe will be here soon,” Shado says, drawing Thea out of her thoughts. She stands up and folds the blanket, setting it across the back of the chair and stretching her legs out with one more yawn.

“Wilson’s son,” Thea says, shuddering a little as a morning shiver tingles up her spine, “It’s still weird to think.”

Shado smiles again, walking over to the couch and bending down to check Oliver’s bandages, taking advantage of his position and checking the one on his back too. She gently presses them back over his wounds. “They’re healing well,” she reports quietly, straightening back up, “The stitches can come out in a few hours.”

“That fast?” Thea lets out, hushed, eyes wide, “That’s...some serum.”

Shado’s smile turns a little bitter but she nods, reaching down to gently brush some of Oliver’s bangs out of his face before continuing on into the kitchen. Thea frowns a little at the gesture but follows, slowing as she grips her own arms and looking back at her brother.

They told her about the serum, or ‘mirakuru’, too. It’s still...hard to believe.

She heads down the hall to use the bathroom, splashing her face with water after. Diggle’s cooking in the kitchen when she comes back out, Shado making tea and coffee next to him while the Wilsons talk quietly near the back windows. Thea snorts quietly to herself at the name and Diggle, Shado, and- Wilson all look over, Joe’s eyes following his father’s. Thea shudders a little.

Right. Serum amps hearing, too.

 _Creepy_ , she thinks, frowning at him.

Wilson raises a brow before looking back to Joe when _he_ snorts quietly, smirking and shrugging at his father. “What? It’s nice for once not being the only one who thinks you’re an ass.”

Wilson rolls his eyes at that, even the white-blue one before turning towards the bar. Shado hands him a mug of coffee over it and he takes it into the living room. Joe watches him go and Thea watches them both, studying them. They’re more irreverent with each other than she was with her father, or Walter, and Joe seems mad at Wilson most of the time (not that she can really blame him for that one).

“Breakfast?” Diggle asks, pushing out some scrambled eggs onto a plate with a buttered piece of toast.

“Thanks,” Thea mutters, picking it up and blinking when Shado gestures to the drinks on the counter with a raised brow. “Water, please,” Thea answers quietly, and Shado hands her a glass. “Thank you,” she replies, taking it, managing a small smile before heading into the living room. She takes up residence back in the armchair, setting her plate on her lap and the glass on the small table to the right, eyes shifting back up to Oliver and Wilson.

Wilson’s sitting on the coffee table, facing Oliver with his mug of coffee in his hand, slowly sipping at it while he does something on his phone.

Joe heads her way with a mug of coffee and his own plate, setting the coffee down on the small table next to her water and getting a few pieces of egg on his fork. “Sorry for last night,” he says low and quiet after a minute, drawing her eyes up, “About the jab about your brother.”

“You don’t like him,” she returns after a moment, frowning a little.

“I don’t,” he agrees, looking down over at her briefly, “But I know what it’s like to be worried you’ll never see someone again, and then to have them back in your life only for them to leave again. I shouldn’t have said what I did,” he finishes, brows furrowed.

She watches him for a long moment while he goes back to his eggs, his blue eyes shifting up to his father. She looks from Joe to Wilson, then back.

 _So that’s why he’s mad at him?_ she thinks, frowning again. And if his dad’s here and left home because of Oliver, that’d make his anger at her brother make sense, too. And then there’s the whole...vigilante...thing.

“I’m sorry, too,” she offers after a minute. His eyes dart back over and they seem to reach an understanding, of some sort. They both go back to their food and she looks over at her brother again, eyes catching on Wilson and- stopping at the look on his face, brows furrowing a little. She can’t place it, the way he’s watching Oliver. It’s concerned, she thinks, but also...quiet? If she had to put a word to it. She doesn’t know what it is.

She frowns a little more while she chews, trying to work it out. Shado walks in with two plates and sets one pointedly down next to Wilson, who looks from it up to her, raising a brow. She raises one right back and he concedes with a quiet sigh, picking the plate up and starting in on the food.

“Smoak at work?” Wilson asks after a minute, forking another scoop of eggs into his mouth and chewing.

“Yes,” Shado answers, standing to his right while she eats her own food. Diggle comes in with a plate and looks around, huffing a breath and then heading over to the bar to take a seat. “I’m going to meet her after and keep watch while she looks into Merlyn.”

Wilson nods and then looks over at Thea. “You need to go home and pacify your mother.”

“But Ollie-” Thea starts, sitting up straighter.

“Is not going anywhere,” he cuts her off, “Take care of things at home and with Laurel Lance, then come back.”

Thea frowns again, taking a huge bite of toast so she doesn’t say something that might start a fight, not with Oliver still injured and resting right in the living room. She’s reluctant to admit it, but Wilson has a point, and she can hopefully find out more about how Detective Lance found Oliver in the first place, even if they have a pretty good guess.

“Have any orders for me?” Joe asks before taking a sip of his coffee, eyebrow raised, unimpressed.

Wilson frowns over at him before his expression evens out. “I thought you were leaving.”

“Guess I’m staying a little longer,” Joe replies just as evenly.

They watch each other for a long minute before Wilson looks away. “Do what you want.”

Diggle looks around at the people cramping up his living room and rolls his eyes heavenwards, closing them for a moment in askance at anything that will listen. “We need to find a place to convene that isn’t my home,” he says after a minute, looking back to the group.

“Talk with Smoak,” Wilson answers, “She found a second site.”

“Where were you all meeting before?” Thea asks.

“The Queen Steel Factory,” Wilson answers, and Thea glances up in thought, brows drawing together.

It sounds vaguely familiar.

She looks back down. “It was destroyed in the quake?”

“Yes,” Shado answers.

“And it’s compromised, if Lance found it,” Diggle adds.

Thea frowns down at the last of her toast in thought, pursing her lips.

 _So they need a place that isn’t what it...is_ , she thinks, worrying at the idea.

\-----

“Thompson!” Roy calls, scanning the rubble around the vet clinic. He sees a group of people at the entrance when he rounds it and- Thompson bandaging someone’s leg. “You’re alive!” he lets out, smiling.

“ _Harper!_ ” she snaps back like a whip, and his spine straightens on reflex, “Good to see you’re not buried alive or sporting a broken bone. Now get over here and give me a hand!” she orders, but her lips curl up a little bit.

“Yes, ma’am!” he returns, jogging over.

\-----

“ _This kind of devastation is unheard of in Starling City, and I promise, I will do everything in my power to help where I can. Queen Consolidated will be funding a food drive, aid for medical expenses, travel for families to get to their loved ones, and...take care of any funeral expenses that need to be seen to,”_ Moira Queen says, brows drawn together and lips curled down, _“I know what it’s like to lose loved ones, and no one should have to go through that alone.”_

 _“Mrs. Queen! How do you think your aid will effect your candidacy numbers? Do you think the campaign will resume once things have settled down?”_ a reporter asks.

Moira’s brows lower a little as she starts to turn away from the microphones. _“The **numbers** are the last thing on my mind,” _ she answers, _“I just want to help the people of this city. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Thank you._ ”

Malcolm turns the tv off, smirking a little. Moira means that, but he and her both know it’s not wholly true. She cares about the city, but she cares about her own family more.

He sighs, sitting back, staring up at the ceiling before turning his head and slanting his eyes to the window, smiling serenely when he catches sight of the devastation surrounding the city.

 _It’s finally done, Rebecca_ , he thinks, looking over at the small container on his desk. He sits forward and opens it, pulling out the small device and rubbing his thumb along the smooth edge. The last time she spoke to him is on this. Now...they should both be able to find some sort of peace.

That just leaves the ‘Wraith’ vigilante.

Malcolm puts the recording back in the container and closes it reverently, standing from his desk and walking over to the floor to ceiling windows. He slips his hands in his pockets as he looks down and out at the city, lips pursing a little in thought.

The League may come, may already be on their way, if Ra’s suspects this destruction was his doing. But if ‘Wraith’ is here _without_ Ra’s allowance...that may work in his favor. That does beg the question though: _how_ is he still here without Ra’s permission?

Malcolm’s brows draw together while he thinks, fingers curling in his pockets.

\-----

Oliver stirs again, cracking his eyes open to afternoon light coming in dim through closed blinds. He looks around the room, to the armchair, finds both empty and reaches down, touching lightly to his side and looking down when he doesn’t find bandage tape tugging at his skin. The sword wound is closed at the front. He reaches around and checks his back, then the bullet wound in his shoulder. All closed. They’re still pink and vaguely sore when he presses at them, but they’re sealed. He slowly sits up, pausing when he catches a whiff of-

Slade steps into his periphery and sets a plate and glass of water on the coffee table in front of him, then heads back into the kitchen with an, “Eat.”

Oliver frowns a little, brows drawing together as he looks at the scrambled eggs and toast, then over into the kitchen, where Slade’s sticking a pan and spatula into- Diggle’s dishwasher. They’re still at Diggle’s.

Oliver slowly scoots forward and grabs the plate, setting it on his lap and picking up the fork. The eggs are unseasoned, which is fine, but his stomach growls almost as soon as they touch his tongue and he chews quickly, regardless of how hot they are, then picks up the toast and takes a huge bite, barely chewing it enough before swallowing it all. Slade passes behind him, dropping a set of folded clothes on the couch cushions before heading back into the kitchen again. Oliver barely pays him any mind, scarfing the rest of the food down. He reaches for the water after and chugs it all down in one go, setting the glass back on the coffee table with the plate and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Figured,” Slade comments, coming to a stop somewhere to his left. Oliver looks over and up to find Slade’s arms crossed and mismatched eyes on him. He looks over at the clothes Slade dropped, picking them up. Dark grey sweats and a white tank top, by the looks of them. “Diggle’s,” Slade explains, drawing Oliver’s eyes back, “Food too. I just reheated it.”

Oliver snorts quietly and Slade rolls his eyes a little.

Oliver gets up and slowly stretches his sore body out, raising his arms experimentally above his head. It hurts a little, but it’s minor pain. He carefully twists at the waist both ways, then lowers down into near splits. He doesn’t want to bother getting up off the floor, so he stops before reaching it and stands back up. He’s still lethargic, worn out, but not nearly as much as the last time he was awake, when-...he...

He glances over to find Slade watching him with a raised brow and looks away briefly, mortification sinking back into his bones, then back. Slade jerks his chin towards the hall next to the kitchen. “There’s a bathroom on the left,” he says.

Oliver grabs the clothes and turns and heads past him for the hall, letting their bare shoulders brush lightly on the way. He feels Slade’s gaze on him until he’s around the corner and in the hall, closing the bathroom door behind him. Oliver sets the clothes on the counter and uses the toilet first, because his bladder is starting to protest, then washes his hands and splashes water on his face, looking up at himself in the mirror. There’s no bags under his eyes and he’s not pale from the blood loss, he just looks...a little tired, but...normal.

He drops his eyes to the bullet wound, grimaces a little at the memory attached to it, then looks down to the sword one, drawing his thumb down along the raised skin. Detective Lance and Malcolm Merlyn, who maybe _used_ to be League. It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes Ra’s lets people go, and Malcolm Merlyn was never in Nanda Parbat the whole time he was, as far as he knows. Could it be that?

 _It must’ve been after Tommy’s mother died_ , Oliver thinks, frowning a little in thought. That would make the most sense. The broken and the damned go to Ra’s al Ghul, and Malcolm left for a couple years after she died.

He focuses back on the present and gets his boots and socks off and his pants undone, pushing them down and off. He heads over to the shower and turns it on, testing the water, but pauses before actually getting in, glancing back towards the door again.

Slade’s out there.

Oliver shudders a little, sucking in a faint breath as arousal starts to stir below his gut.

_Slade leans closer, chest pressing a little more into his back, and rumbles low in his ear, breath ghosting across it, “We’re not doing that kind of training.”_

His cock hardens a little at the memory and he scoffs quietly. _‘Training’_ , he thinks, frowning at the shower, then over at the door after a moment. He frowns harder at himself for _debating_ it, then makes a decision and turns, heading for the door, pulling it open and padding out. He listens closely but he still doesn’t hear anyone else in the apartment, so he rounds the corner at the kitchen and finds Slade on the couch in the living room, head dropped back and eyes closed. They open when Oliver stops near the arm of the couch, Slade’s head turning to look over at him. Oliver can practically feel his gaze sliding down his skin as he watches Slade’s eyes move, from his face all the way down to his cock, then just as slowly back up. They watch each other for a silent moment and then Slade gets up and Oliver turns, heading back for the bathroom, Slade’s near silent steps following him. He swallows a little.

He walks back into the bathroom and turns around, watches Slade shut and lock the door before stepping close and kissing him, backing him up against the door. Oliver lets out a shaky breath through his nose as Slade’s hands slide down his sides and around to his back, over his ass, gripping it. Oliver reaches up, grips at the straps of Slade’s tank top and kisses him harder, cock hardening against Slade’s rough jeans. Slade reaches a hand up, pulls his ponytail out and then digs fingers into his hair, and Oliver moans when they massage his scalp, shuddering a little at the tingling sensation that zips down his spine and makes his toes curl against the hardwood floor.

Slade’s mouth drags down his chin to his jaw, the side of his neck and Oliver lets his own do the same, mouthing at Slade’s jaw, biting at his pulse point. Slade growls quietly into his neck and Oliver’s toes curl again, gripping onto Slade’s shirt tighter. He slides his hands down and shoves them up under it, dragging it up. Slade pulls back enough for him to get it up and off, letting it drop before sliding his hands up Slade’s arms, over small, old scars and smooth, warm skin, mouthing and biting along his shoulder. Slade slides a thigh up and Oliver parts his legs a little so it can slip between, grinding forward and groaning low against Slade’s shoulder, curling his fingers in a belt loop and against Slade’s side. Slade sucks a bruising kiss into the side of his neck, the base of it while grinding his thigh up and Oliver rocks his hips harder, shuddering at the pain-pleasure against sensitive skin from the rough texture of his jeans.

Slade’s hands slide down to his ass again, gripping and helping his hips rock and Oliver moans again, bites at Slade’s shoulder and revels in the growl it gets him, the tightened grip on his ass. Slade lets go and pulls his head back and Oliver pulls back his own, lets Slade grip the sides of his face and kiss him roughly while he reaches for Slade’s pants, getting them undone and open. He sucks on Slade’s tongue when it finds its way into his mouth, slides his own against it while he starts pushing at Slade’s pants. Slade pulls back after a moment and lowers his leg, nudging Oliver back. Oliver reluctantly steps away so Slade can get his boots off, his socks, then his pants, then steps close and grabs Slade by the back of his neck, kissing him again while he pants through his nose and backs them up towards the shower.

They part long enough to get in without tripping and then Slade pulls the curtain shut, more out of habit than anything, backing Oliver up against the wall, water hitting their sides. Oliver shudders at the cool tile against his back, his ass contrasted with the heat of the water and Slade against him, returning the kiss and groaning quietly when Slade sucks on his tongue, Slade’s hands finding their way to his hips and gripping tight. One slides around to his back and down, but this time fingers dip between his cheeks and Oliver stills, Slade pulling his head back a little to look at him while Oliver sucks in a breath. Calloused fingers slowly, experimentally rub against his-...hole, and it feels strange, but it-

They press a little and Oliver’s cock gives a twitch, breath hitching as his cheeks warm. Slade keeps watching him, slowly slides his fingers up and down over his entrance and Oliver pants quietly, gripping onto him tighter. “I don’t-...know how to…” Oliver trails off, swallowing, watching Slade back.

Slade leans close and kisses him again while his fingers still, then press again as he sucks at Oliver’s lower lip, gripping his hip in his other hand. “I’ll show you,” Slade rumbles low against his mouth, voice rough, and Oliver takes a breath, heart pounding in his chest. The hand on his hip slides down the outside of his thigh, then around to below it, lifting. Oliver hooks it up around Slade’s hip, cheeks warming again while he swallows at how much more... _exposed_ it makes him feel.

“Relax,” Slade near-whispers against his lips, and Oliver takes a slow breath, holds it, then lets it out even slower, making his muscles relax with it. One of Slade’s fingers presses on the exhale, then- presses _in_ at the end of it, just the tip, and Oliver sucks in a breath at the- _feeling_ , tightening up again. He makes himself take another breath, makes himself relax all over again but Slade doesn’t press in any further, just rocks the tip of his finger in and-...out. Oliver wraps an arm around the back of his neck, gripping onto him while he tries to adjust to the feeling. It doesn’t hurt, it’s just...it feels strange, but at the same time...it...the thought of Slade putting _more_ in-

Slade’s other hand slides from his thigh to his cock, stroking slow while he thrusts his finger in a little further and Oliver groans quietly, can’t help his eyes falling shut as the arousal and pleasure curl up his spine. He grips onto Slade’s shoulder with his other hand and tries- rocking, a little, because he- _wants to_ , trying to keep his body relaxed. Slade growls low and quiet and his finger slips in that much more. Oliver drops his forehead to the base of Slade’s shoulder, panting. He can feel Slade’s cock hard against the underside of his thigh and swallows again, mouths at Slade’s shoulder since he can’t mouth at his cock and feels Slade’s lips on his neck again, his own shoulder, trying to suck another short-lived bruise into his skin. Oliver rocks his hips a little more, up into the hand stroking his cock and back onto the finger thrusting- _inside_ of him now and groans harder, holding onto Slade tight.

“Like that,” Slade pants low next to his ear, sucking at his earlobe and making Oliver shudder. He sucks at the side of Slade’s neck, moaning when Slade’s finger rocks in a little further- and twitches a little when Slade’s knuckles meet his ass, unexpected, blinking his eyes open and lifting his head while he pants. Slade looks back over at him, pupil blown and swallowing the dark brown, and then Slade mouths at his jaw, the side of his mouth. Oliver turns his head to try and kiss him, but he’s panting too much to do it properly, pleasure building at the base of his spine while he keeps rocking his hips. Slade drags his mouth back down after a minute and mouths and bites his way to Oliver’s ear, voice a low growl, “ _I want to fuck you_.”

Oliver swallows while his hips jerk a little, and he tightens his grip while his cock leaks over Slade’s hand still stroking him slow and steady, drawing the pleasure out. “I want-” he manages to breathe before Slade’s finger inside _curls_ and that arc of _lightning-pleasure_ spikes up his spine, stronger, more visceral than last time. Oliver’s back arches with a sharp moan, hips jerking sharper. Slade bites and sucks at the side of his neck while he does it again, rubbing at that spot while stroking his cock harder and Oliver moans louder, drops his head and digs his teeth into Slade’s shoulder to try and muffle it so his voice isn’t bouncing around the tile. Slade presses at that spot inside him _harder, **rubbing**_ while giving his hand a twist over the head of Oliver’s cock-

The pleasure _crests_ and Oliver comes harder than he did last time, is barely aware of his shout muffled into Slade’s warm skin as he grips onto him bruisingly tight, world going white as the pleasure _crashes_ through him, exploding behind his eyelids.

He slowly comes back down, slower than the last few times, panting hard and curled around Slade, Slade holding his thigh up and keeping him upright by pressing him back to the shower wall. Oliver lowers the back of his head to it, staring at Slade through hazy, half-lidded eyes while he tries to catch his breath, chest still heaving. Slade watches him back, patient, intent. Oliver reaches up with a trembling hand and grips the back of his head, pulling him close to kiss him thoroughly.

“ _I want you to_ ,” he whispers roughly against Slade’s mouth, finds he _does_ want Slade to even though he doesn’t know much about it. He kisses Slade again and Slade’s cock grinds up between his cheeks with a low growl. Oliver groans quietly, shuddering a little, damp bangs hanging in his face. Slade pushes half of them back before slowly lowering his thigh, and Oliver pauses briefly when he realizes Slade’s finger isn’t- in him anymore. He didn’t even notice.

He turns around and arches his hips back a little, cheeks warm, pressing his hands to the shower wall. Slade quickly crowds up against him, pressing all along his back as a hand wraps around his hip, pinky resting where it meets his thigh and gripping tight. Slade shifts his cock up between his cheeks and rocks forward, hips snapping slick and wet. Teeth find his shoulder and Oliver reaches back with a hand, curls his fingers into Slade’s short, damp hair and pants quietly, arousal curling low again at the thought of Slade doing that- _in_ him, of his _cock **in**_ him, of-

“ _Fuck me_ ,” Oliver breathes, gripping Slade’s hair tighter. Slade growls low in his chest, the sound reverberating through Oliver’s back and snaps his hips harder, reaching a hand between them to help stroke himself off. Oliver hears him growl out a sharp groan after ten more seconds and then warmth hits his lower back, making him shudder a little. He lets Slade press him to the wall with his weight while Slade pants against his shoulder, an arm wrapping around his waist, hand sliding down to wrap around his cock again. Slade keeps him pressed to the wall while he strokes him, and Oliver groans against the tile, rocking his hips into it. Slade’s other hand slides up between his chest and the wall and grips his pec, pinching his nipple. It doesn’t take long for Oliver to come again with a hard groan, shuddering through it. They just rest there after while Oliver tries to catch his breath again, hand sliding down out of Slade’s hair to rest against the wall.

He keeps his eyes closed. After a minute, he feels lips press light to the back of his shoulder, barely there, and his heart beats faster, something warm in his chest... _shifting_ shape. He swallows a little, ignoring it. Slade’s hand slowly slides down his side, over the mess of scarring, the long line of it from his ribs to his hip and the chaos in between, the split off streak towards his belly button.

Then Slade pulls back, letting him up, and Oliver takes a breath, trying to steady himself before turning around and looking at Slade through his bangs. He reaches a hand up after a moment to push them back and they watch each other for a minute, Slade’s gaze...

That same something in Oliver’s chest _tightens_ and he swallows, then Slade reaches over and grabs the bottle of shampoo, offering it over with a small smirk. And just like that, the tension is gone and Oliver huffs out a breath, relief flooding him as he takes it.

\-----

“Why did you decide to come with us again?” Thea asks, frowning over at Joe in the backseat as the car comes to a stop in the Queen Estate parking lot.

“Because I don’t want to be trapped in an apartment with my father and your brother,” he mutters.

Thea’s brows furrow and she looks to Diggle, who shrugs before getting out. Thea and Joe follow suit. Joe slides his hands in his coat pockets and Thea looks over. How he’s wearing one in Summer is beyond her. Australia must be _hot_ if the weather here isn’t phasing him.

They head for the stairs, taking them up to the front doors. Thea gets one open and leads the way inside while she takes a breath to steel herself, her mother jumping up from the couch as soon as she steps into the living room and practically flying over, wrapping her up in a tight hug and knocking the breath out of her.

“ _Thea!_ ” Moira lets out, pulling back and gripping her arms almost bruisingly tight, “ _ **Don’t you ever do that again**_ ,” she scolds, voice hard, then yanks her back into a hug before Thea can get a word out, breath _huffing_ out of her again.

“Mom- I told you-” she starts, hands fluttering a little, not sure what to do with them, because she’s still- _angry_ about the assassin thing.

“I’m _just_ as worried about him as you are but you are _not_ prepared to go out looking for him in a city wide disaster!” Moira cuts her off, pulling back again to look at her, eyes _angry_ and _worried_ and going red around the rims, “ _Thea_ , I already lost one child, I _can’t lose another_. _Do you understand?_ ”

“Mom-” Thea starts to protest, the guilt kicking her insides through the anger. She finally reaches up to grip her arms back, then Moira’s eyes shift somewhere over her shoulder.

“Who is this?” Moira asks.

Thea turns a little, looking back over her shoulder briefly. “This is Joe. He’s a...friend,” she answers lamely.

Moira’s lips press together and she looks back to Thea. “That’s the second boy you’ve brought by,” her mother says low and quiet, just for her ears, or _trying_. Joe and Diggle’s eyebrows jump up a little anyway.

“ _Mom_ ,” Thea protests, “It’s not like that.” _Neither time_ , she thinks. She finally pulls out of her mother’s grip, taking a breath. “I need to go meet Laurel,” she says, turning for the hall.

“Didn’t you hear?” Moira asks, stopping her. Thea turns back, brows drawn together and eyes widening a little as the fear pounds in her chest. Is Laurel- “C.N.R.I.’s ceiling collapsed. Laurel and everyone got out okay, but she called last night asking about you. She was worried,” Moira finishes, expression stern as the ‘ _and so was I_ ’ goes unsaid.

Thea takes a breath through the guilt again as that news sinks in, the fear dissipating. At least Laurel’s alright, and everyone else. “Then I should go call her,” Thea says. Her mother’s lips flatten again but Thea turns, heading out of the room.

“I didn’t catch your last name,” Moira says before Joe can follow Diggle, turning back.

“Wilson,” he answers, and Moira’s eyes widen a little as she pauses.

“Mr. Wilson’s...son?” she hazards, brows slowly drawing together. He nods and her lips purse a little. She nods after a moment, eyes hardening. “Don’t get my daughter in trouble,” she warns firmly, “I don’t know everything your father’s been doing, but it’s dangerous. I don’t want her involved any further than she already is.”

“I haven’t known her that long,” Joe starts, raising his hands a little in mock-surrender before slipping them back in his pockets, “But from the brief time it’s been, I get the feeling neither of us can really tell her what to do.” Moira frowns at him and he shrugs, turning and following Diggle out of the living room.

\-----

Laurel pauses when her phone vibrates and pulls it out, setting her files down. The D.A.’s Office is letting them use an adjacent few rooms to work out of while they try to salvage the C.N.R.I. building. They managed to save at least some of their caseloads before the quake destroyed it but...so much of it was lost. They’ll have to start from scratch again, unless they can recover some of the servers and files buried under the rubble.

“Thea?” she asks after catching the caller I.D. and answering.

“ _Hi, Laurel_ ,” Thea breathes out, “ _Are you alright? My mom said you and everyone got out okay?_ ”

“We’re fine,” Laurel answers, “Are you alright? Your mother said you were at a friend’s…?” she tries.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Thea answers, “ _We’re alright_.”

There’s a pause and Laurel takes a breath, deciding to bite the bullet. “Thea, I know about you and the vigilante.”

Thea’s quiet for a moment, then, “ _I don’t_ -”

“ _Thea_ ,” Laurel cuts off her excuse, brows drawing low together, “One of them put my father in the hospital.”

Thea sucks in a breath on the other end. “ _Is he alright…?_ ”

“He’ll be okay,” Laurel answers, shoulders relaxing a little where they went taut, “But it doesn’t change what happened, or- everything else that’s been going on with them.” She lets the silence go for a beat before adding, “Can we talk?”

Thea’s quiet for a moment before letting out a breath. “ _Where?_ ”

“My place? An hour?” Laurel returns, because she can put off work for this, she _needs_ to.

“ _Okay_ ,” Thea says on another breath, “ _I’ll meet you there_?”

“Okay,” Laurel answers, hanging up. She texts Thea the address and pockets her phone, turning to grab her bag. She pauses on the way out when Joanna stops on the way in, a stack of dirt smudged, tan folders in her arms.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“I have something I need to look into,” Laurel answers, giving her a small, strained smile, “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Okay…” Joanna trails off a little uncertainly, watching her go.

\--

Thea blows out a breath, setting her phone down before getting out of her dirty clothes, frowning a little more at the dried blood she catches on her jacket, nearly blending in except when it hits the light. It just makes her remember last night, Ollie looking... _awful_ , covered in blood and like he fought a building, which he kind of did. She shoves her jacket in her hamper with the rest of her clothes before darting into the bathroom for a quick shower.

She gets dried off after as quick as she can and in some clean clothes before grabbing her phones and wallet and running out of her room, nearly running smack into Joe when she comes flying out the door. His hand catches her shoulder and helps her correct her balance and she huffs out a breath, frowning up at him and then over at Diggle lurking in the hallway.

“Why the hurry?” Joe asks.

“Laurel knows,” Thea answers, looking between their joint frowns.

“Laurel is the daughter of the detective,” Joe says, reaffirming.

“And a friend,” Thea adds.

“She knows about... _you know who?_ ” Diggle asks.

“Well, my father _is_ a little like Voldemort,” Joe muses. Thea smacks his arm and he jumps a little, glaring at her.

“She wants answers,” Thea says to Diggle, ignoring him.

Diggle glances around the hall and then tilts his head towards the stairs and they all take them down, out the front doors and down onto the drive, heading straight for the parking lot. “What does she know?” Diggle asks, keeping his voice down as he gets the car unlocked, pulling the driver’s side door open. Thea huffs when Joe beats her to the passenger side door, glaring at his smug smirk as he gets in and slipping into the back instead.

“She said she knows about me and the vigilantes and that one of them put her dad in the hospital last night,” Thea answers once they’re all inside with the doors closed. Diggle gets his key in the ignition and starts the car while her and Joe put their seatbelts on.

“That’s vague,” Joe comments.

“Vague enough to try and phish some answers out of you,” Diggle adds towards Thea, brows drawn low, “Be careful what you tell her.”

“What _should_ I tell her?” Thea asks, thumbing the burner phone in her pocket.

“Let’s try and figure out what she knows first,” Diggle answers.

Thea lets out a breath. “You’re both coming?” she asks, looking between them. Diggle smiles back at her over the seat while Joe huffs a breath.

“Obviously,” Joe replies.

Thea frowns at the back of his head but her lips twitch. She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a breath. “Thank you.”

\-----

Roy heaves a sigh as he drops to sit on a chunk of cement, forearms resting on his thighs and eyes closing for a minute. He _jolts_ when something cold presses to his forehead and darts his eyes up as he jerks back. Thompson raises a brow down at him, wiggling the soda can at his face.

“You kids like this, right?” she asks.

Roy snorts and takes it, frowning at the grape decoration. He shrugs and pops the can top open, tilting it back and downing almost half of it in one go. He lowers it with a long sigh, eyes closing again against the sun starting to angle down towards the horizon. “That everyone?” he asks, clearing his throat when his voice comes out scratchy and rough. It’s been a long day.

“ _No_ ,” Thompson sighs heavily, lowering herself down next to him on the slab of cement, “But our shift is over for the night.

Roy opens his eyes and looks over at the mass of people under the makeshift tents, on the sleeping bags laid out on the ground. A few ambulances finally showed up, but the staff is still trying to deal with the mass amount of injured people- everywhere.

Thompson takes a sip of her own drink, cringing as she jerks it back. “Damn sugar water,” she grunts, and Roy huffs a laugh.

“It’s cream soda. What’d you expect?” he teases.

She glares at it but takes another, smaller sip, grimacing. “Least the sugar will keep me going for another hour,” she concedes on a grumble.

Roy leans back on a hand and sighs, looking out at the city. His expression sobers and he downs the rest of his own drink, then squeezes the can tight until it crumples.

\-----

Thea takes a deep breath as she gets out of the back of the car, staring up at Laurel’s apartment building. She’s never been here before, which just makes her more nervous, but at least she’s not here alone. She shuts the car door, hears Diggle and Joe do the same and looks over. Joe tilts his head towards the apartment after Diggle rounds the car and she squares her shoulders, looking straight ahead as she makes herself start walking, going over what she should say, what she wants to say, what she wants to _avoid_.

Laurel probably doesn’t know about Ollie, she’d have been acting a lot differently if she did, and she...still can’t know about him. Thea’s not going to throw him into her line of fire, especially not while he’s injured. She knows what he did with Laurel’s sister, but that was...before, and Ollie’s a different person now, _very_ different, and...if the scars are anything to go by, he’s already paid more than enough for what happened.

They get into the elevator and start taking it up.

“So this...Laurel,” Joe says, frowning a little and looking over at Diggle and Thea, “You said she’s a friend?”

“And a lawyer, and Oliver’s ex-girlfriend of a few years, before the boat wreck,” Thea answers, lips pressing together while Joe frowns. “He, uh…” she trails off, looking up at the elevator numbers ticking up before looking back, “He and Sara, Laurel’s sister, were on the boat together when it...went down.”

Joe’s brows draw down low and he looks to the floor, then up at the numbers. “So he was an asshole who got her sister killed.”

“ _Was_ ,” Thea cuts back, drawing Joe’s eyes back over.

She loved her brother, still does, but Thea can admit he wasn’t the greatest person back then. She’s not sure what kind of person he is now, but...he’s still her brother, still the same one who hugs her, and still the same one who the first thing he says to her after five years is about her wellbeing. ...Minus that whole...rooftop...thing near the Glades.

She glares up at Joe a little. “He’s not that person anymore, obviously.”

Joe frowns a little more and looks up at the numbers again, mulling that over. “No, he might be worse,” he replies, continuing before Thea can protest, “And Laurel won’t see it your way, if her sister died because of him.”

“Which is why we’re not telling her about him,” Thea returns firmly, looking up too, “That’s not something I want to get into.”

“Better to leave it to him,” Diggle adds, and Thea takes a breath.

The elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open, and they all step out, looking over the apartment door numbers. They spot Laurel’s down at the end of the right hall and head that way. Thea raises her fist, takes another breath and squares her shoulders, and knocks. She hears steps on the other side after a moment and then the lock _clicks_ and the door pulls open, Thea’s heart hammering a little in her chest.

Laurel stares back, eyes darting to Joe then Diggle. “Your bodyguard and…?” she trails off, raising a brow at Joe.

“A friend. Joe,” Thea answers. Laurel’s brows draw together as she looks back to her, then she steps back and gestures them in. They all walk inside, looking around while Laurel closes the door behind them and heads into the living room off to the right. They follow her through into the kitchen where Laurel takes a seat at the light wood table, Thea and Joe sitting opposite while Diggle stands over by the doorway, standing guard.

“They know too?” Laurel asks after a beat, eyes shifting from Thea to Joe and Diggle, then back, brows furrowed a little. Thea nods and Laurel frowns, but doesn’t say anything more. Thea glances to the side, around the white of the kitchen a little nervously in the silence before making her eyes shift back to Laurel.

“Did you...have questions?” she asks, trying not to wince at how awkward it comes out.

“ _What were you thinking, Thea?_ Getting involved with _vigilantes_ ,” Laurel lets out, low and tense as she leans forward over the table, “They’re _murderers_.”

“I _know_ that,” Thea lets out right back, lowering her voice and leaning forward too, “But Ghost _saved_ me, more than once, and not just me. I’m not saying the killing is right, but they haven’t _just_ been killing people.”

“And _why_ does he keep saving you?” Laurel asks, eyes narrowing a little.

Thea freezes, thrown off guard and thoughts scrambling. Right, Laurel’s a lawyer, she has _practice_ at cutting to the chase and taking people off guard. She’s just never... _done_ that at Thea before.

“Are you recording this?” Joe cuts in before she can completely panic, making both her and Laurel’s eyes dart over.

“No,” Laurel answers, lips flattening, “Because regardless of my instincts, I don’t want Thea getting in trouble for something she doesn’t realize the gravity _of_ ,” she adds with a pointed look her way.

Thea’s brows draw together, but she keeps her mouth shut. She’s not here to get into a fight. And it’s not exactly wrong, she _didn’t_ know what she was getting into at first, and she still doesn’t, exactly. But it involves Ollie, and no matter what, she’s not leaving him to die again. She can’t.

“My father feels he owes the Queens a debt,” Joe answers after a pause.

Laurel sits up straight, eyes widening for a moment. “One of the vigilantes is…?” Joe nods and Laurel takes a moment to absorb that. “What ‘debt’?” she asks next, brows furrowing again.

“It’s not mine to explain,” Joe answers calmly, a lot calmer than Thea. It makes her feel a little ashamed that she lost her composure so quickly. She sits back in her chair while he continues. “But he feels responsible and he’s not leaving until he feels that debt has been fulfilled. The vigilante part of it is just…”

“A cover?” Laurel asks incredulously, “Your father is _murdering_ people. What kind of man- _Is he a mercenary?_ ” she demands.

“No,” Joe answers, voice and eyes hard, and Laurel frowns, searching his face and trying to work it out.

“So he’s a soldier,” she surmises after a few moments. Joe doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. “Why would a soldier feel he owes the Queen family a debt?” she asks next, eyes shifting back to Thea.

Thea debates with herself for a minute before taking a breath and breathing out, “Ollie.” Laurel’s eyes widen a little again as her shoulders go tense. Thea watches her, brows drawn a little helplessly together. “Ollie survived the Gambit, made it to an island where Joe’s father was. Whatever happened there...that’s why,” she finishes vaguely.

“...And Sara?” Laurel asks quietly after a minute.

Thea shakes her head. “Honestly, I _swear_ I don’t know anything about Sara.” Laurel studies her for a tense moment before her eyes drop to the table and Thea watches her, heart... _aching_ for her. _She_ got her brother back, sort of, but Laurel…

“This is...a lot to process,” Laurel says after a minute, voice a little rough. She clears it quietly, still staring down at the table.

They’re quiet for a few minutes.

Laurel pushes up from the table and walks over to her counter, leaning forward on it and staring down at the tan granite. She turns after a minute, leaning back against it and crossing her arms. “And the factory? My father?” she asks, trying to focus on what she can.

“It came down when Lance caught Wraith there,” Diggle answers, voice calm and quiet as he looks over, and Laurel looks back, “Wraith got him out.”

Laurel stills, fingers curling a little. “That doesn’t change what either of them have done,” she says firmly.

“War and devastation aren’t that easy,” Diggle returns.

“The law doesn’t care,” Laurel replies, voice hard, “And this isn’t war.”

“That you know of,” Diggle returns, and her eyes narrow a little.

“The law isn’t always suited to handle everything,” Joe adds, his own voice low and hard, staring up at her.

Laurel glares back and he returns it, brows drawn low and black bangs hanging a little in his face.

“Sometimes it’s messy,” Diggle agrees, slowly drawing Laurel’s gaze back, “You think I didn’t hate the vigilante at first? I did. I went to confront him about it, but…Joe’s right. Things aren’t that black and white.”

“ _It doesn’t matter_ ,” Laurel repeats firmly, “The law is the law.”

Joe snorts quietly. “Say that again when it’s _your_ family caught in the grey crossfire,” he bites out, making Laurel pause.

It’s silent for a minute.

“Take your father home,” Laurel says eventually, standing up from the counter and lowering her arms, eyes hard, “You have three days. If not, I’m going after him with everything I have. We can’t have vigilantes running around our streets _killing_ whoever they choose. That’s not the way the city works.” Laurel looks to Thea and Thea’s breath catches a little in her chest at the look in her eyes, fingers curling tight beneath the table. “And stay away from him, Thea, this is the only warning I can give you.”

Thea swallows, eyes dropping to the table.

Laurel shows them out after a minute and they get back into the elevator, taking it down in silence. They step out of the building into the setting sunlight and squint against all the gold. Thea raises her hand to try and block it, slipping into the backseat of the car once it’s unlocked. They all settle in the quiet for a minute.

“Well, that could have gone better,” Diggle comments.

Joe snorts quietly, turning to look at Thea in the backseat, then between her and Diggle. “You two ‘staying away’?”

Diggle sighs, debating with himself for a minute before shaking his head a little. “I’m already in this deep,” he decides.

Thea’s brows lower as she looks up. “ _Hell_ no,” she answers.

Joe huffs a laugh and smirks back. Her lips curl up a little despite the hollow weight in her chest.

“I like you more than your brother,” he comments, turning back around.

She huffs and crosses her arms, then digs her phone out of her pocket while Diggle starts the car and gets them moving, dialling her mother to give her a warning about Laurel and Detective Lance.


	28. Our obsessions draw us in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for the first section; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ccY25Cb3im0 - "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails (finally had to dig this out fdjksl)

Oliver pants, grinding his hips forward where he’s straddling Slade on the couch and slots their mouths back together, gripping the sides of Slade’s neck. Slade’s hands tighten their grips on his hips, panting back between kisses while he spreads his legs a little more and grinds up harder. Oliver groans low in his throat at the rough texture of Slade’s jeans through his sweats, muffled into Slade’s mouth, and drags his tongue over Slade’s while he rolls his hips, cock already halfway hard.

They showered, then ate more, then moved back into the living room. They watched the news for a few minutes to see the update on the quake, and then Oliver’s- _libido_ reared its head again. He couldn’t- _can’t_ stop thinking about how it felt in the shower. When he was with women, it was only ever him in them, never anything in him, never anything like Slade hitting that spot inside. It’s overwhelming, borderline _too much_ , but that’s what makes it so- _tempting_. Being with Slade is just different too, he’s larger, stronger, shaped differently than a woman. The newness of it paired with the pleasure is intoxicating and Oliver wants to feel it again, _wants_ to get off with Slade, wants his hands on Slade and Slade’s on him, wants to feel Slade’s skin, his scars, his mouth, his hands, his _cock_. He just... _ **wants**_ , so much it’s almost _maddening_. He can deal with it by not thinking about it most of the time, but when he does think about it, he has a hard time _stopping_.

Slade’s hands push the top of his sweatpants down while Oliver pulls his own tank top up and off, dropping it to the side on the couch. He reaches for Slade’s, pushes his fingers up beneath the black material while he goes back to kissing him, pushing it up until he has to pull back again. Slade lets go just long enough for Oliver to pull it off over his head before Slade’s hands are back on him, calloused palms roaming over his skin, dragging down his back to his ass and gripping tight. Oliver reaches down between them to get Slade’s pants undone while his tongue explores Slade’s mouth, nearly tearing them open before pushing them down a bit while Slade shifts his hips a little to help, trailing the kiss down to Oliver’s jaw before dropping his mouth to Oliver’s shoulder, teeth nipping and sending a shudder down Oliver’s spine. He shoves Slade’s boxers down enough to draw his cock out, then presses forward to grind them together, both of them groaning roughly at the _pain-pleasure_ of the friction. Slade’s mouth finds his again and bites at his lower lip while Oliver drags his blunt nails down Slade’s chest, reveling in the groan he gets when his nails drag either side of Slade’s nipple. He does it again and Slade grips his ass harder, dragging their hips firmly together and grinding up roughly.

“ _Slade_ ,” Oliver pants, lost in the haze of the arousal, the pleasure slowly climbing up his spine like a _furnace_. He can feel his cock leaking between them, can feel Slade’s, the precum gradually smoothing the slide as it spreads between their overheated skin.

“ _Oliver_ ,” Slade growls back, drags his lips down Oliver’s chin and sucks and bites kisses lower, down his neck and collarbone to his chest until his mouth finds Oliver’s nipple. Slade drags his tongue flat across it and Oliver shudders with a sucked in breath, gripping onto him tighter with a low groan. Slade bites then sucks it into his mouth and Oliver jerks a little at the sharp pleasure that rockets up his spine, all throughout his body from that single point, cock leaking more between them while he groans louder and rocks his hips harder.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Oliver moans low, drags his eyes back open where they fell shut and slides a hand up the back of Slade’s head, digging his fingers into Slade’s hair as he curls closer, his own hair shifting forward and curtaining either side of them. Slade’s is too short to really grab, but Oliver tries anyway while Slade sucks harder at his nipple, _bites_ again. Oliver’s hips jerk at the sharp pleasure paired with the one climbing at the base of his spine, thoughts so hazy he can’t- all he can feel is Slade’s _mouth_ , all he can hear is their panting breaths, feel the heat of Slade’s against his skin with his rough stubble, feel Slade’s tight grip on his ass, dragging Oliver’s hips forward to help them grind harder, feel their cocks slide together, slick with a little friction, making his toes curl, can _smell_ their precum between them, like sex, hot and hazy. He feels like a teenager all over again, dumb with all consuming arousal and his libido out of control. He just wants to- _**fuck**_.

Slade switches to his other nipple and Oliver tries to grip at his hair, his shoulder, fingers digging in bruisingly tight as he groans. He feels one of Slade’s hands shift on his ass, then fingers dip down between his cheeks to rub at his hole again and Oliver moans harder, rocking back into it as his hips move faster. He can feel his orgasm approaching like a cliff drop, so _close_ he can almost taste it on the back of his _tongue_ -

Slade bites his nipple while pressing at his hole, a finger dipping inside and thrusting, and Oliver falls over the edge with a rough shout, gripping onto Slade tight as his hips jerk and he comes between them. He groans, loud and low as he rides the wave of pleasure, drops his head and bites at Slade’s shoulder while he rocks his hips through it. Slade follows him over with a rough, sharp groan muffled into his skin barely half a minute later, more sticky-warmth spilling between their stomachs while Slade’s finger keeps thrusting inside him, and Oliver pants, finally slowing to a stop as Slade does. Slade’s finger slides out while his mouth lets go of Oliver’s nipple, dragging his tongue across it one more time and making Oliver shudder before pressing panting kisses back up his throat to his jaw. Oliver lifts his head and they kiss sloppily, most of it just pressing their mouths together while they try to catch their breath. Oliver leans forward heavily, pushing Slade into the back of the couch and wrapping an arm around the back of his neck, finally breaking the kiss after a minute to pull back a little and look down at him, panting.

Slade stares back up as he pants back, eyelids half-lowered and brown eye hazy, slowly clearing as the orgasm high fades. Slade reaches up and pushes some of Oliver’s bangs back, then slides his fingers up into his hair and pulls his head back down, kissing him roughly, thoroughly, tongue delving deep into his mouth. Oliver breathes out his nose, tilting his head to make it deeper while he slides his tongue against Slade’s, groaning low and quiet in his chest where they’re pressed flush together.

“I want you to fuck me,” Oliver says quietly between kisses, tightening his grip.

“Not yet,” Slade replies just as quiet, sucks at Oliver’s lower lip before dragging his teeth across it, looking up at him, “They’ll be back soon.”

Oliver holds in a sound and kisses him again, lets himself get- _lost_ in it for a few more minutes, _just a few more minutes_.

\-----

“Find anything on Merlyn?” Shado asks as she comes to a stop next to the desk, looking over the screens. Felicity types something, brow furrowing while she purses her lips.

“A lot of it is public record,” Felicity answers after a beat, looking over to the left screen while she types another something Shado doesn’t catch, “What _isn’t_ is...nothing to write home about. I’m starting to think whatever there is about him out there that _will_ help us is on his private servers, or the company’s, and if _that’s_ the case…” she trails off, sitting back with a sigh and looking over and up, “We’re going to have to go in there and do this connected to the source.”

Shado frowns back, then looks to the screens again. “Do you have a schematic for the building?”

“Yes, but it’s getting in that’s the problem,” Felicity answers, pulling it up. “The server we’d need is up near his office,” she says, pointing to a spot on the schematic, “And the elevator that goes up that high is owner access only.” She lowers her hand and then sits up after a moment, tapping at her keyboard again. “I did find out that Oliver’s old BFF works there, but with him thinking Oliver’s dead…” she trails off, blowing out a sigh, “And if he tells Tommy Merlyn he’s _alive_ …”

“We’d have to find a way to keep him quiet if he ever decided to tell anyone,” Shado grimly finishes for her.

Felicity nods, looking over again. “That, and once that card’s played, we can’t play it again. It’s a one-time deal. It’d be great if we could get Tommy on our side, but...I honestly don’t know the first thing about him personally. Even if he _was_ Oliver’s best friend since they were kids, that doesn’t tell us anything about what he’d think of everything Oliver’s done since going missing and being presumed dead. He could try and turn Oliver in, he could try to turn _all_ of us in, he could...I don’t know. He’s dating Laurel, Oliver’s ex-girlfriend and Detective Lance’s daughter. It could all go so wrong.” Felicity cringes.

Shado stares at the screens, eyes unfocused while she thinks. “It’s too big a risk,” she decides after a minute, frowning, “We’ll need to find another way.”

“Well...Oliver _is_ an assassin,” Felicity starts thoughtfully after a few moments, drawing Shado’s eyes over, “Think with the serum he could... _ninja_ in and out without anyone noticing?” She looks back up, eyebrows raised. “I mean we could provide some back up, distractions or something while I try to get into the security mainframe and give him some blind spots. It’s still risky, but...it’d be _less_ risky.”

“We’ll bring it up with the others,” Shado returns.

Felicity nods, pausing when she remembers- “That reminds me,” she starts, looking back up, “Diggle texted me about us maybe meeting here instead of his apartment. What do you think? I’ve been looking for another location besides this one to have as another backup, and I might have a candidate or two, but...his place isn’t really the best choice for secret group meetings, and I feel bad taking his home over.” Felicity shrugs and Shado smiles a little, watching her. Felicity pauses. “What?”

Shado raises a brow a little with a small smirk and Felicity’s cheeks warm.

“I know that look now,” she says, pointing at Shado and brows furrowing, “You did that look at Oliver and Wilson, so nevermind. I don’t want to know.” She turns back to her monitors and takes a breath, heart pounding a little in her chest.

Shado just keeps smirking, turning and heading over to her bag by the stairs.

\-----

Thea follows Diggle into his apartment, blowing out a breath and finally letting her shoulders drop. Now that they’re not in public and she can see Ollie-

She stops, blinking when she finds him...sitting on the couch staring at her. He’s...awake. “ _Ollie_ ,” she breathes, hurrying over. She slows to a stop when she reaches the side of the couch, not sure if- Hugging him while he looked like he was dying was one thing, but maybe now that he’s awake, he won’t-...

He slowly stands and her eyes follow him up.

He _looks_ okay. His hair is still weirdly long and his eyes are that strange, glowy green color that she’s still not used to, and he looks a little tired, but...

They watch each other for a long minute, Diggle making some noise as he closes and locks the apartment door behind Joe and takes his coat off, hanging it on the coat hanger on the wall before heading past the back of the couch to the kitchen, Joe following. Thea searches Ollie’s face, trying to- find someone she recognizes, but he’s so...hard to read now.

“Are you...okay?” she finally asks quietly, swallowing a little.

Oliver takes a breath and lets it out slow, giving a nod. “Yeah,” he answers just as quiet, lips pressing together.

Thea frowns a little, eyebrows drawing up. “You’re mad,” she says.

“Not right now,” he returns. He opens his arms up a little and her feet move before she thinks about it, quickly closing the distance and wrapping him up in a hug, squeezing her eyes shut and holding him tight. His own wrap back around her and squeeze a little, and the backs of her eyes sting.

“You’re _here_ ,” she chokes out quietly, shoving her face into his shoulder. She hears and feels him take another breath and let it out just as slow, ribcage slowly expanding and falling against her. He’s not as soft as he was, he’s harder all over, but he still mostly the smells the same.

“Yeah,” Oliver answers quieter next to her ear. She holds onto him tighter, sniffling quietly, then jerks back and punches his arm. He jolts a little, staring down at her a little wide eyed while she glares up at him.

“ _Jerk!_ ” she lets out, gritting her teeth at the pressure mounting in her chest, “When you come back from the dead you’re supposed to come straight _home!_ Where-” she cuts herself off with a hard shake of her head. She darts back close and hugs him tight again, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her cheek to his shoulder. His arms come back around her, tighter this time, and she feels a hand brush down the back of her hair. It makes the tears build and spill over and her throat go so tight it’s hard to _breathe_.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, voice a little hoarse near her ear. He squeezes her just a little more and she sniffles again. “ _I’m sorry, Thea_.”

She holds him as tight as she can, turning her head and burying her face in the base of his neck, shoulders hunched up. He keeps stroking her hair and holding her until the pressure in her- _entire being_ finally starts to slowly ease away, gradually washing out like a tide and leaving her _drained_. She doesn’t let him go though, _can’t_ , still can’t get over the fact that he’s _**here**_ , and he doesn’t let go of her either, even when he’s mostly holding her up.

She sniffles, finally pulling back and trying not to wipe her nose on her sleeve or something gross. She blurrily blinks over when Diggle sets a box of tissues on the coffee table nearby with a gentle smile, cheeks going hot with embarrassment. She grabs a few to try and clean up her face, sniffling again and looking up. Oliver wipes at his face with his palms, eyes and nose about as red as hers probably are. He looks at her again, then slowly leans close and presses the gentlest kiss to the top side of her head, like he used to when they were kids. She ducks it a little after, feeling five again, warmth unfurling in her chest with embarrassment and spreading tingling to her fingers and curling toes.

She looks around when she hears low talking, finds the Wilsons and Diggle talking quietly in the kitchen. She takes a breath and looks back up at Oliver, reaching up and tugging lightly at the long hair draped over his shoulder. “This is different,” she comments quietly, voice still a little hoarse.

“Never got around to cutting it,” Oliver returns, voice about the same as hers, “I’m less recognizable this way.”

 _That’s true_ , she thinks, studying him. “Your eyes…” she trails off quietly, frowning a little.

He glances down away briefly before looking back. “Long story. Happened when I was...healed, by the League.”

“From the...big scars?” she asks a little hesitantly. He nods and her eyes drop to the one she can see, pausing when she sees bruising around his neck. She frowns a little, but lets it go for now, starts to reach forward towards the scar that runs down his cheek and neck and disappears into the top of his tank top before jerking her hand back. “I know Wilson gave you that one, and you took his eye,” she says quieter, glancing past Oliver into the kitchen. Wilson doesn’t look over, but she can’t be sure if he heard her or not.

Oliver nods again, drawing her eyes back, expression solemn.

“And he’s here trying to...make amends?” she asks, brows furrowing a little. They told her in a nutshell what Wilson’s doing already, but she wants to understand it from her brother’s point of view.

“Yeah,” Oliver sighs quietly, glancing back over his shoulder into the kitchen, “He’s still a pain in the ass.” Wilson does look over at that, eyebrows rising a little. Oliver frowns back before looking back to Thea. "How’s...mom?” he asks hesitantly after a minute, like the word is foreign on his tongue.

Thea blows out a breath, looking away. “A mess, but up to something, so I don’t know how bad I should feel about it,” she mutters back. Oliver’s brows are drawn together when she looks at him again. “She was...the one I overheard talking to Malcolm Merlyn about the assassin,” Thea explains slowly, watching Oliver’s eyes harden in a way she’s still not used to seeing, “That’s why I texted Wilson.” She looks around him to see Wilson watching them from the kitchen, brows lowered. His eyes shift to Oliver and hers do too, watching him stare off to the side down at the coffee table.

“The Gambit and Malcolm,” Oliver says quietly, looking at Thea before turning and looking over at Wilson, “Not a coincidence.” He doesn’t raise his voice, but Wilson seems to hear him anyway, inclining his head.

“What do you want to do, kid?” Wilson asks back, raising his voice a little.

“Get my supplies first,” Oliver answers, eyes drawing away in thought, “If they’re not too buried.” He lost his sword in the factory, it’s under too much rubble for him to get back any time soon, and his mask. He pauses when he looks back to find Thea staring somewhere below his face, brows furrowed.

“You didn’t have those bruises before…” she trails off, frowning up at him.

Oliver stills, heartbeat picking up in his chest while she watches him closely.

“When did you-... _Who?_ ” Thea asks, looking more confused than angry, “Shado? I thought she was with Felicity?” Her eyes dart past him when there’s a low groan from the kitchen and they both look to find Joe sitting at the bar with his face in his hand, elbow resting on the bartop.

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this,” he mutters, then, louder as he looks over at Thea, “They’re _fucking_.”

“Ollie and Shado?” Thea returns, brows furrowing further.

“Your brother and my _father_ ,” Joe forces out, brows drawn low together. Thea and Oliver still, Thea’s eyes shifting to Slade, who’s leaning his hip against the counter with his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised a little, then to Oliver, then back and forth again.

“You and…” she trails off, pointing at Oliver, then Wilson. “But...Ollie, he’s a guy,” she says dumbly, thoughts still caught in a hamster wheel.

“I’m very aware of that Thea,” Oliver replies slowly, low and quiet and voice a little strained.

She makes a face. “Ew,” she says, then, “But- You never- You never have-...with a _guy_...right?” looking up at him.

“Not really, no,” Oliver makes himself answer, keeping his voice down even though Slade can hear him.

Thea looks between them again, thoughts like square pegs trying to fit in round holes. “But I thought...When did-...? Always…?” she asks, brows lowering in concern. “This whole time? Why didn’t-...was it mom?” she asks next, brows dropping and voice sharpening as the _concern_ shifts to _anger_.

“No,” Oliver answers quieter, swallowing a little. He looks off to the side while he thinks, then blows out a quiet breath and turns, taking a seat on the couch. Thea follows him down, sitting almost right up next to him. “Dad,” he near whispers, just because it’s a private conversation. Slade can still probably hear him, but Oliver’s not too worried about him hearing. It’s...everyone else.

Thea sits up straighter, eyes searching his face. “Really?” she asks, voice hushed to match his. Oliver nods and she looks over to the coffee table for a minute, brows drawn together while she thinks it over. She looks back, reaching for his hand and gripping it. “It doesn’t matter to me,” she says firmly, low and quiet, leaning closer and staring at him with hard eyes, “It _doesn’t_ , Ollie.”

Oliver stares back, searching her face, fingers slowly curling around her hand. It’s still small in his, thin, but not as small as it used to be. He leans closer after a few moments and presses their foreheads together, taking a breath. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Thea smiles a little, expression softening. “You’re my big brother,” she says quietly, simply, and he stills, throat going tight. He nods his head a little against hers and she smiles more, and he lets himself stay there just a little longer, feeling...home...maybe.

After a few minutes, Thea says quietly, “Now I know why Joe was so mad though,” smirking a little.

Oliver frowns and huffs a breath, pulling back. Thea gets up after a minute and slowly lets Oliver’s hand go, heading over to Joe and taking a seat next to him at the bar. Wilson looks over at her and she looks back, raising a brow. He snorts quietly and heads into the living room and she watches him go, then looks over at Joe. “That’s _got_ to be weird for you,” she says quietly, and Joe blows out a breath, frowning hard at the bartop.

“You might be the _only_ other person who gets just how much,” he mutters, rolling his eyes up and giving a sharp shake of his head.

Thea looks back over to her brother and Wilson, Wilson sitting on the coffee table in front of him and saying something low and quiet, too quiet for her to hear. She watches the way they interact, Oliver more casual with Wilson than she’s seen him since he came back, and Wilson…

 _Oh_ , she thinks, stilling, _That’s what that quiet look meant_.

Diggle stares between them too, muttering to himself, “ _Definitely not brothers_ ,” shaking his head. Then he stills, squinting over at them again.

 _They didn’t do anything to my apartment while we were gone, did they…?_ he wonders, dread in his stomach.

\-----

“District Attorney Spencer,” Laurel says, approaching.

Kate Spencer turns her way, raising a brow, straight red hair catching the light and standing out starker against her dark blue suit. “Ms. Lance,” she returns, “How can I help you?”

“I would like to request to be moved to the vigilante case,” Laurel answers, coming to a stop.

Spencer’s other brow rises before they both lower a bit. “I understand your father is one of the detectives in the task force, but that doesn’t mean I can appoint you, an attorney not part of our office, to the case.”

She starts to turn away and Laurel blurts out, “I have a witness connected to both vigilantes.” Spencer stops, looking back while Laurel’s heart hammers a little in her chest.

“A witness? Who?” Spencer asks, crossing her arms.

“A friend,” Laurel answers, brows lowering, “Someone who will remain anonymous. But I promise you, they are connected to both, have been for a little while. I can get more solid proof of the vigilante activity and find out things my father won’t be able to by hitting the streets.”

Spencer studies her for a long moment, head tilting a fraction to the side. “You’re willing to use your friend to catch these vigilantes?” she asks.

Laurel’s lips twist but she takes a breath, letting it out slow. She doesn’t need to get Thea involved if she remains ‘anonymous’. As long as Laurel gets the information she needs, puts together a physical map of everything she’s been gradually, mentally putting together over the past couple weeks, she can catch the vigilantes and close this case without getting Thea immediately involved, so long as Thea heeds her warning and stays out of it. If she doesn’t...Laurel already warned her she can’t do much more for her.

“I can do this,” Laurel answers firmly.

Spencer’s lips slowly curve up a little as she studies her, evaluates her, judges her merit. “I’ll have you transferred to our office and the vigilante case by tomorrow morning,” Spencer says after a minute, “But Ms. Lance, you don’t bring anything useful to the case in the first twenty-four hours? You’re out, out of the case and out of this office, understand?”

Laurel nods, brows drawn low. “Yes, ma’am.”

Spence nods back and turns away, heading down the hall, and Laurel takes another breath, a little shaky. She curls her fingers and turns, heading down the opposite end.

 _I can do this_ , she thinks firmly, pressing her lips flat together, _They need to be off the streets, for the whole city’s sake_.

\-----

Oliver shoves another slab aside, squinting through the small cloud of dust that billows up when he disturbs the cement as he searches for his bags, any of them.

“Anything?” Slade asks low in his ear through the bluetooth Smoak gave him, turning over his own chunk of rubble.

 

“ _Here,” Smoak had said after reporting her findings on Merlyn and the idea of breaking into Merlyn Global, offering over a plastic package, “Since you’re...kind of one of us now, and it’d be better if we were all connected, especially if we end up going through with this plan. ...And after the whole earthquake thing.”_

_Oliver had slowly taken it, looking over the bluetooth inside before shifting his eyes up to her. She’d bit the inside of her cheek, looking nervous, but determined, refusing to look away. Oliver had looked over at Slade, who shrugged back._

_“It has its uses,” Slade had said_.

 

“No,” Oliver grunts, scanning the area before reaching for another piece.

No one in the Glades has come up this far, that he heard or saw on the way. The whole of the Glades is damaged, but the majority of it is along the center in one long, winding streak, a giant sinkhole like a huge snake had laid there and then got up and disappeared. The outskirts are a mishmash of fallen buildings that have been on the verge of collapse for years and ones that managed to almost make it through, parts of them still standing but rarely the whole things, and even those look on the verge of collapse with large cracks up their sides and in their roofs.

Oliver adjusts the bandana tied around the lower half of his face and the gloves Diggle lent him and shifts more rubble, glancing over at Slade. They must make a picture, him dressed like a bank robber in a black hoodie and Slade in his tac gear, mask, and swords, overturning rubble too heavy for regular people.

Slade gives a low whistle after a few more minutes of searching and Oliver shoves the rubble in his hands aside, checking under it to find nothing before making his way over, hopping from one tilted slab to the next, closing the space between them. He stops and watches Slade pull a dust covered black duffel out, offering it over by the straps. Oliver takes and shoulders it, tugging the zipper open enough to double check what he feels against his hip.

The guns, knives, and ammunition from the Bratva.

He closes the bag back up and looks around at the wreck of the warehouse, the steel beams jutting out like broken ribs between slabs and chunks of cement piled like a mountain landslide happened. He huffs a quiet breath and looks back to Slade. “We’re done,” he says. There’s no point in trying to find the rest. He can replace his toothbrush and toothpaste and clothes, even the laptop. The weapons were his first priority.

Slade turns and starts down the rubble pile, leaping from chunk of cement to chunk of cement while Oliver follows until he’s back on steady(ish) ground. They check around the area again as they head into the darker shadows. It’s night, but the city’s in chaos, the Glades too. Everywhere is far less secure than it was before the quake, and there could be cops lurking around now.

 _Like Lance_ , Oliver thinks, pressing his lips together.

Slade’s phone vibrates and Oliver looks over as he digs it out, Slade stopping and Oliver stopping with him, keeping quiet.

“The boy. Harper,” Slade says, hushed, turning his phone screen off and pocketing it before looking over, “Sent a message through about meeting.”

“Going?” Oliver asks after a beat.

Slade takes a breath, looking around the Glades, then sighs. It’s quiet for a minute before he says, “I was going to do all this alone.”

Oliver watches him a moment before looking around at the Glades, too. “So was I,” he returns, looking over the collapsed buildings, crushed cars, fallen street lights and telephone poles, burnt out windows and shattered glass, the rubble littering the cracked streets.

He came to Starling with the intention of being here for a night and then gone, like a whisper, and he was alone. Now he’s standing here with Slade and a bluetooth in his ear connecting him to a group of people who know he’s Oliver Queen and alive, including his sister and mother, carrying a duffel full of guns because he doesn’t have any of his League weapons. And the Glades are in ruin.

His fingers tighten around the duffel straps.

There’s so much collateral damage.

Slade looks over and Oliver looks back. “Your mother?” Slade asks.

Oliver nods, looking ahead as he starts walking again. They can’t be sure the mansion hasn’t been bugged by A.R.G.U.S., so they’ll need to get her alone. She’s working late tonight, according to Thea, so the soonest chance to do it will be in the next hour.

“The boy?” Oliver asks back after a few minutes.

Slade rolls his shoulders back, then digs his phone out and sends a text to Thea, presumably. Oliver’s lips flatten beneath his bandana but he keeps quiet.

\-----

“Yes, that’s correct,” Moira replies into her cellphone, pushing a glass door of her office open and heading out for the elevator, “Yes, you can quote me on that. No. Alright. Goodbye.” She sighs as she hangs up, slipping her phone into her purse. She rubs at her temple as she gets in the elevator, glancing over at her guard, Roger, as he presses the button for the lobby floor.

 _Do you ever feel like you’re barely holding your head above water?_ she nearly asks, but presses her lips together, lowering her hand and looking straight ahead at her blurry reflection in the elevator doors. Her daughter will barely speak to her, her son is a murdering vigilante, Walter knows none of it, and the Glades are…

She closes her eyes firmly, brows drawn together a little and expression pinched.

They’re still counting the total dead and injured, still searching under all the rubble and in the sinkhole snaking its way through the center of the Glades. A large part of her wishes she had said something, wishes it more than almost anything, but the rest is...glad her daughter is alright, and Walter. Malcolm already took one husband and child from her, she can’t _bear_ going through that again. Even though Oliver is alive, she’s worried he’s not...her _son_ anymore. She hasn’t even spoken to him since Wilson kidnapped her. For all intents and purposes, it almost feels like her son is still...

The doors slide open with a gentle _ping_ and she drags her eyes open, squaring her shoulders and standing tall despite the exhaustion in her bones as she follows her guard out- They both jerk to a stop when they find the other three on the floor in the lobby with the lobby guards, all unconscious, then something moves, sharp and quick and black in her periphery and Roger hits the floor with a hard _thud_ as a gloved hand goes over her mouth before she can scream, something pinching the back of her neck-

The world goes black like a curtain dropping.

\--

Moira jerks awake, blinking her eyes quickly as she darts them around. She’s in a warehouse of some kind, crates stacked all around and metal support beams going up to a three story ceiling, lamps off where they’re hanging in intervals high above. She slowly sits up on the hard floor, wincing and reaching back with a hand to rub at the tight spot in back of her neck, looking around again. What-

Quiet steps to her left make her eyes snap over and she stills, eyes slowly drawing up black pants and a hoodie to green eyes-

“ _Oliver_ ,” she lets out, quickly pushing to her feet regardless of the exhaustion and aches she can feel starting in her bones. He tugs the black bandana over the lower half of his face down below his chin and watches her with those hard, green eyes, so foreign from the way his eyes used to be. “You’re-”

“I know about Merlyn,” he cuts her off, and she freezes, heart stilling in her chest before jackhammering, eyes wide. Her son stares back at her like a stranger and she feels- colder than she has in a _years_.

“I-” she starts.

“The assassin,” Oliver cuts off her excuse, and she snaps her mouth shut, lips pressing firmly together.

She comes to a decision.

“Malcolm hired the assassin,” she says. Oliver’s eyes narrow a little but he doesn’t say anything and they watch each other for long, silent moment, the tension slowly tightening her shoulders, the pressure growing in her chest. She just wants- she just wants to _hold_ him, but he looks like a _stranger_. His eyes were never cold, never like-

 _Malcolm’s_ , she slowly realizes, fingers curling at her sides.

“And the Gambit?” Oliver finally asks quieter.

She curls her fingers tighter and takes a breath, glances away briefly before looking back. “I had it salvaged in secret. I wanted to use it as leverage against him. He’s- Oliver, you don’t know what kind of man he is,” she says firmly.

“I do,” he replies, and that catches her off guard, stilling as she watches him watch her.

“Oliver…” she trails off quietly, brows drawing together, “Are you-...the assassin, did he-”

“I’m fine,” he cuts her off again, voice a little harder than before. His shoulders relax a fraction and she swallows a little, eyes searching his face.

 _But he wasn’t_ , she fills in the gap. “Oliver...I’m so-...sorry,” she says quieter, “I _tried_ to get a warning to you. Did Wilson-” Oliver nods before she can finish and she takes another breath, eyes dropping to the dirty cement floor. But it did no good, her warning, her son still got caught in the middle of things, _again_ , regardless of her trying. But that’s how it’s been the past five years, her trying to keep her family out of it. She thought she’d succeeded after Robert and Oliver, but now _both_ of her children are caught up in it, first Oliver, now Thea.

“I never wanted you and Thea involved in this,” she says after a minute, her son’s strange eyes still watching her, glowing a little in the dark, eerie, “Your father...he was involved in something, and then when he tried to leave-...” she trails off, swallowing. “I’ve done what I can to try and keep Thea out of it. I _swear_ I didn’t know you were alive. If I had I would have- I would have _ **found you**_ ,” she says firmly, honestly, heart aching so hard in her chest it’s hard to breathe. “ _God_ , just imagining you trapped on some island after-...” She takes a step closer, risks taking another, backs of her eyes stinging and throat going tight. “And seeing what you’ve _become_. Oliver…” She takes another step, and another. He keeps watching her but doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stop her from finally closing the distance and pulling him into a hug, squeezing her eyes shut as she presses her cheek to his hard shoulder.

 _He’s not soft anymore_ , she thinks distantly, he’s hard, like rocks and steel, inside and out. _God, my little boy_ , she thinks, tears spilling over. She can still see how he used to be, reckless and irresponsible, but so-...sweet. He used to be so sweet, used to smile _so much_. She only ever wanted him to be _happy_ , and now he’s…

He doesn’t hug her back, but it doesn’t stop her from hugging him, squeezing him tight. Finally, after a minute, she feels his arm slowly lift and wrap around her back, hugging her like she’s made of glass.

“My _boy_ ,” she chokes out, more tears spilling over and soaking into his hoodie, probably ruining her makeup, but it’s inconsequential.

“I’m not-...” Oliver trails off, voice softer, a little hoarse next to her ear, and Moira shushes him gently.

“I know,” she says quietly, almost a whisper, pulling back just enough to look up at him, reaching up to cup his stubbled cheek. He stares back down at her, eyes a little red around the edges. “Sweetheart, _I know_. Neither of us are who we thought we were.” His brows draw together a little and his eyes close, leaning a little into her hand. Her heart breaks all _over_ again and she rubs her thumb gently over his cheek. Even his skin isn’t quite as soft as it used to be.

They stay there for a few minutes, and Moira tries to soak up as much of the moment as she can. She doesn’t know when she’ll be able to get this close to Oliver again, or if she’ll even see him again after this. He’s like the name the news gave him, ‘Wraith’, just as hard to capture as an idea, or a whispered word uttered too quiet to make out the shape of, and...there, in the times of people’s deaths, the thing people have been seeing right before they die. It...makes the ache in her chest _worse_ to imagine him doing that, _being_ that, but it’s eclipsed by being able to finally touch her _son again_ , getting this second chance to be in the same space, even if it’s just for a short time.

She leans up on her toes in her heels and presses a kiss to his forehead, sees him squeeze his eyes shut. They finally open again after she lowers and Oliver stares down at her, eyes wet in the dim light. He swallows a little, clears his throat quietly before slowly pulling his arm back. She takes a breath and makes herself pull away, too. It’s one of the hardest things she’s ever had to do, like when the nurses took him away right after he was born. It was only for ten minutes back then, just to get him cleaned and weighed and measured and wrapped in a blanket before he was finally in her arms, but it’d felt like a lifetime.

She knows it’ll be longer than ten minutes again, this time.

“I need to take care of Merlyn,” he says quietly.

“Oliver, that’s not-...he’s _dangerous_ ,” she says firmly.

“So am I,” he replies, voice and eyes going hard again, and it makes her still all over again, how different he is.

She swallows a little.

“Even so, Malcolm is capable of-...terrible things. And it’s not just you I’m worried about, but _Thea_ ,” she says, eyes imploring, and he pauses, “She’s not capable of defending herself like you can. _We_ _need_ to protect her.”

Oliver’s quiet for a minute, then, “That doesn’t change what needs to be done.”

“Oliver-” she starts, stopping and stilling when his hand comes up and rests on her shoulder, breath catching at him _voluntarily_ touching her.

“We’ll protect her,” he says quietly, “But Malcolm needs to die.”

Moira takes a sharp breath, heart pounding a little. It can’t be that easy. “What about Tommy?” she asks quietly, and Oliver’s expression tightens a little. “He doesn’t know you’re alive, does he. Or Laurel. Thea called to warn me about her. Maybe if you go to them-”

“ _No_ ,” he cuts her off, sharp and hard, and Moira presses her lips flat, brows drawing together. He takes his hand off her shoulder and she laments it. “Lance may have run my blood. The more people know I’m alive, the higher the risk to everyone. If he arrests me, the police will look into my past, and that will get them, and you, killed,” he says low.

Moira stills, fingers curling tight. “Will Wilson at least help you?” she asks, taking a step closer again, “Oliver, you need _someone_ to help you. Malcolm is too dangerous and I can’t watch Thea by myself.”

Oliver watches her for a moment before shifting his eyes up, past her, and she frowns, turning to follow his gaze-

A black shadow _drops_ out of the pitch black above, making her jolt, and lands in a crouch, slowly standing-

“ _Wilson_ ,” Moira breathes, eyes widening a little. He pulls his intimidating black mask up and off and watches her, one of his eyes- blind. “...You’ve been here the whole time,” she realizes.

“I’m as much his shadow as he is mine,” Wilson replies low, raising a brow a little as his eyes shift up to her son.

Moira looks back to Oliver, frowning a little. “You didn’t trust me,” she says.

Oliver looks back down at her. “I don’t trust anyone,” he replies quietly, making her heart break all over again. His green eyes shift up past her and she glances back to Wilson.

“Even him?” she asks, frowning a little again, because there’s something going on between them, she can feel it, has been since the beginning, but it’s more palpable with them both here in the same room with her.

“I trust him the most,” Oliver answers after a few moments, drawing her eyes back. He glances down at her. “But not completely.”

“Likewise, kid,” Wilson grunts, and Oliver looks back up. Moira catches his lips twitching and frowns again, looking back over to Wilson.

It’s quiet for a couple moments before Oliver says, “I need to go,” and Moira nearly whirls back around, reaching out to grip his hoodie.

“ _Oliver_ ,” she says, breath catching and heart pounding. She doesn’t want to let go again-

His hand reaches up and covers hers, holding it for a couple moments before gently untangling her fingers from his hoodie, the skin around his eyes tightening a bit. He lets go and she makes herself breathe through the heartache, closing her burning eyes firmly, briefly. She forces them back open and nods once, and he moves past her. She turns to watch his back retreat as he heads for the other end of the warehouse between the stacks of crates, eyes finally shifting to Wilson, who watches her son a moment before turning to follow.

“Mr. Wilson,” she calls quietly, and he stops, half turning back. She studies him closely, lips pressing firmly together for a moment. “What exactly is your relationship with my son?”

He watches her back before reaching up and pulling his mask down. “That’s private,” he answers, making her frown further, “He’ll tell you when we figure it out, or he won’t.” He leaves it at that, turning and heading out of the warehouse after Oliver.

Moira presses her lips together again and takes one, long breath, letting her eyes close. Her body starts to tremble and she reaches up, gripping her arms tightly. She drags her eyes open and starts walking, one foot in front of the other. She can break down when she gets home.

\--

Oliver runs, keeps running while his heart tries to beat faster, fluttering wings trapped against a cage he’s trying to keep locked tight.

 _That was the first time he’s hugged his mother in over five years_.

He swallows and finally jerks to a sharp stop, breathing a little hard, but not from the exertion. He hears Slade stop next to him. Neither of them say anything, Oliver just trying to breathe through the tumultuous storm in his chest while his fingers curl tight at his sides and Slade just watching him, like always.

After a few minutes, when Oliver still hasn’t managed to get his- _everything_ to calm down, a hand grips his shoulder and yanks him over, and he crashes into Slade’s front, grenade shells digging into his chest. He looks up, throat tightening as Slade watches him back through his mask, Oliver’s breaths puffing warm back into his face beneath the bandana. Slade reaches a hand up and grips his cheek beneath his hood, over it, and pulls him closer, kissing him through both their masks. Oliver’s eyes squeeze shut, gripping onto Slade’s kevlar tight. Slade pulls back after a minute and Oliver sucks in a big breath, holding it and letting it out in a rush.

He doesn’t want to become dependent on Slade being able to...calm him down, but right now, it _helps_.

Oliver takes another breath and holds it, lets it out slow again, repeats it until the storm in his chest finally starts to dissipate. Slade’s gloved thumb rubs over his cheek over the edge of the bandana before pulling away and moving around, hand gripping the back of Oliver’s neck over his hood. Not restricting, just- _grounding_.

“You okay, kid?” Slade asks quietly after a few minutes.

“Yeah,” Oliver breathes out, forcing his eyes open where they fell shut and looking at Slade’s one brown eye, nearly black in the night, “Just…”

“She’s your mother,” Slade finishes for him when he doesn’t continue, and Oliver swallows a little, closing his eyes again and taking one more breath. He makes himself pull back and Slade lets him go.

“Malcolm,” Oliver says, trying to refocus. The line in his ear _clicks_ before he can start moving again and Smoak’s voice comes through, making him twitch, forgot the bluetooth was in his ear.

“ _We have a problem_ ,” she says urgently, “ _Moira just called Diggle and said Thea’s missing. She went to check on her and found things in Thea’s room knocked over, her phone on the floor, and one of her windows open_.”

Oliver freezes, staring dumbly at Slade. He just saw Thea two hours ago.

Slade stares back, brow dropping as he asks, “Security cameras?”

“ _Went offline, and the burner phone was shut off in the room. As soon as it goes on, I can start tracing it, but until then…_ ” Smoak trails off, voice worried.

Oliver slowly grits his teeth, fingers curling tight as his brows lower, and Slade’s eye hardens.

“Merlyn?” Slade asks low.

“ _He hasn’t left his penthouse_ ,” Smoak answers.

Oliver turns and starts running, faster than earlier, jumping one roof and then the next, heading straight into the city.

“Text me the location,” he hears Slade say.

“ _Already done_ ,” Smoak replies just after Slade’s phone vibrates. Slade runs ahead of him and Oliver lets him take the lead, if only because he doesn’t know where he needs to go.


	29. Alone in the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: violence, torture, and gore

_One Hour Ago_

 

Thea sighs, frowning down at her phone before sending another text back. She knows Roy is angry for getting turned down by Wilson, but he doesn’t need to be so childish about it. It’s not _her_ fault.

“Harper being difficult?” Diggle asks as he parks in the estate lot, turning the car off and unbuckling his seatbelt before looking at her over the back of the seat.

“Yeah,” she replies, frowning, almost feels like she’s pouting, “I’d say maybe we should bring him into the group, but…”

“But there’s already a lot of people and it still feels too soon,” Diggle finishes for her, pushing his door open after a moment and getting out. Thea unbuckles her seatbelt and follows, closing the door behind her. “Eventually though, maybe,” Diggle adds with a small smile over at her.

Thea smiles back before her thoughts go back to-

“I still can’t believe my brother and Wilson are…” she trails off, brows furrowing. She hears a huff and looks back up to see Diggle’s lips curled down.

“I’m more worried about what they did to my apartment while we were gone,” he mutters.

She makes a face. “I don’t want to think about that,” she replies, pausing, “Although I am curious how it would even...work?” Her brows draw together while Diggle looks down over at her, a brow climbing up near his hairline.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to think about it?” he asks.

“Not _them_ specifically,” she answers, making another face, “That’s just gross. Just...I don’t know, I’ve never really considered two guys together before.” She shrugs and Diggle huffs again.

“I hope I never find out the hard way,” he mutters.

She snorts a quiet laugh.

 _Ditto_ , she thinks, grimacing a little.

Diggle walks her into her house, her mother still out, so Thea heads up to her room after telling Diggle goodnight with a little wave. She’s still caught up in everything but...she feels...not lighter, but better. The weight of knowing what happened to her brother, even if she doesn’t know all the details is...a lot, him being _back_ is a lot, and everything else going on, and then there’s everything with the Lances, but...at least she’s not alone in it anymore. She doesn’t _feel_ alone.

She doesn’t bother turning her bedroom light on, just heads over and drops her light coat on her couch and sighs, rolling her neck. Maybe she’ll just go straight to bed. It’s been a long day, so many ups and downs between Laurel and Oliver and-

Something black drops over her head and a hand goes over her mouth over it as she lets out a muffled shout, flailing and kicking out. She hears things knock over before there’s a sharp _sting_ to the back of her neck and she _jolts_ with the current of electricity before she drops-

 

_Now_

 

Malcolm’s eyes snap over when his computer screen flashes, ‘ _PROXIMITY ALARM_ ’ blinking bright red across it. He quickly taps the key for his security feeds and scans each one. There’s nothing-

He bolts for the small painting on the wall, shoving it aside and quickly tapping in his security code. The room doors fling open with a sharp _CRACK_ , glass shattering as they hit the walls and Malcolm’s eyes dart over. He sees two black shapes run in as he sprints into the hidden room, reaching for his bow in the middle of the center stretch of counter-

A bullet hits the countertop centimeters from his fingers and he jerks his hand away before something _shoves_ him forward like a ram to his back, forehead slamming against the black countertop. He lets out a pained sound as his nose breaks from the impact and then a hand presses him hard down to the counter, immovable no matter how much he tries pushing up, his cheek pressing into his own blood. He stills when he feels a gun muzzle press to the back of his head.

“ _Where is Thea Queen?_ ” someone growls behind him, and his mind quickly goes through the possibilities, the scenarios.

_The vigilantes? But which one?_

The gun presses harder and he focuses. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answers as steadily as he can, muffled a little into the countertop while keeping his fingers from curling against it. He grunts sharply when the gun goes off and pain _stings_ sharp and _burning_ all throughout his palm, spider-webbing straight up his right arm. He looks over to see a hole in his hand and grits his teeth before shouting, “I don’t _know!_ Whoever took her it wasn’t _**me!**_ ”

It’s silent for a minute and then the gun disappears from the back of his head and he’s yanked up like a doll, quickly spun around and _slammed_ back down to the counter. The green eyed vigilante- Wraith, bends down close, gun pressing to Malcolm’s forehead. Wraith’s eyes seem brighter than last time, somehow, hard and _furious_.

“ _Say it again_ ,” Wraith growls deadly low, brows drawn down. Now that Malcolm’s looking at him up this close, he seems- familiar. The slope of what Malcolm can see of his nose, his brow, the dark blonde hair hanging down from up beneath the hood. But who would-

And then it all _clicks_.

Wraith has a vested interest in the Queens, he sounds younger, closer to Tommy’s age, he was trained by the League before coming here, somehow he’s off leash from Ra’s, for some _reason_ , probably to protect the Queen family-

Malcolm’s eyes slowly widen and he takes a breath.

No matter how impossible, it’s the theory that makes the most sense.

“It wasn’t me, Oliver,” Malcolm tries, voice calm and clear.

Wraith freezes above him, head jerking back a fraction. It’s not much of a reaction, but it’s enough to cement the theory into fact. Wraith reaches up and yanks his bandana down below his chin, and Malcolm finally gets a look at Oliver’s face. He looks a little older, but mostly the same, save for the eyes, the hard look about him, and the scar going down his cheek, jaw, and throat, disappearing into his hoodie. Malcolm’s eyes follow it down, lips flattening before his eyes dart back up. That wound should have killed him. Ra’s must have used the Pit. That explains a lot.

Oliver keeps the gun pressed to his forehead.

“I can help you find her,” Malcolm offers calmly. The gun presses a little harder and his lips flatten again.

“If you didn’t take her, you’re of no use to me,” Oliver says flatly, voice hard as steel and eyes like ice.

 _He’s a killer_ , Malcolm reminds himself, he’s not the Oliver Queen Tommy grew up with, not anymore, not if he’s been with the League. Though that’s not completely true either, since he’s been here in the city for a while now, protecting his family.

“I have resources you don’t,” Malcolm counters, and Oliver doesn’t move, still watching him. “Do you know what my League name is?” he asks. Oliver doesn’t say anything, so Malcolm continues, “Al Sah-her. It means ‘The Magician’. I’m of more use to you alive than dead.”

“Or you’re trying to make it seem like you are,” a gruff voice says, and Malcolm’s eyes cut over. The second vigilante, Ghost, walks into the room, stopping next to Oliver. Malcolm studies him, the mask, the tac gear, the swords while frowning a little.

He sounds older, closer to Malcolm’s own age than Oliver’s, and the way he holds himself shows he’s trained, but from what Malcolm’s seen, he’s not League. A highly trained soldier, maybe, but not the kind of assassin he and Oliver are.

Malcolm’s eyes shift back to Oliver. _He’s_ the one Malcolm needs to convince. “I have resources,” he repeats, “And even if you go to your mother, even _if_ she _knows_ you’re alive, she can’t use hers without drawing attention and suspicion. She’s a mayoral candidate now, under close scrutiny. But I’m not, and I _can_.”

Oliver glares down at him, but Malcolm can see the gears turning in his head as he thinks it over. Oliver’s eyes shift to Ghost and they stare at one another for a long moment.

“Up to you, kid,” Ghost says.

Oliver’s eyes drop down, then glare over at Malcolm again. He slowly pulls the gun away and steps back, and Malcolm slowly pushes himself up, ignoring the pain in his nose, back, and hand, the blood smeared over his face. He curls his fingers a little, testing as he looks down at the bleeding hole in his palm, expression tightening. He won’t be able to use his bow, he can barely curl them. On purpose, most likely. All League agents are precise, even when they’re angry.

He glares up at Oliver who glares back, gun lowered but not put away. “ _Find her_ ,” Oliver growls, pulling the bandana back up with his free hand, “You have three hours. Do anything else, and I put a bullet in your head.”

Malcolm watches him, nodding slowly. Oliver turns sharply and heads out of the room, Ghost staying behind and watching him.

“You going to threaten me too?” Malcolm asks dryly, covering the tight coil of anger in his chest with it.

“You may be called ‘Magician’, but we both know you’re a snake,” Ghost says simply, and Malcolm pauses, frowning as Ghost’s voice goes hard, “And if the kid doesn’t kill you, I will.”

“My, protective, aren’t we?” Malcolm replies lightly, then his voice goes just as hard as his brows lower, “Oliver and I have a deal. I’ll uphold my end.”

Ghost snorts quietly and takes a step closer, voice dropping as his one dark eye stares at him, “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

They watch one another for a tense moment, Malcolm mentally calculating the distance to the knives in his drawers before Ghost turns and walks out, leaving Malcolm staring at the swords on his back, crossed like large shears used to-

Malcolm’s eyes narrow.

Cut off the heads of snakes.

He’s going to need to keep a closer eye on that one.

\--

Oliver stalks to the edge of a roof, stopping and glaring out at the city, teeth gritted so hard it feels like they’ll _crack_. He hears Slade’s steps stop to his right a few feet away and grits them harder. “This is my fault,” Oliver forces out, eyes searching the city lights. He just told his mother they’d _protect_ Thea, and now she’s-

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is,” Slade replies steadily, looking over, “We’ll deal with it.”

“And if we can’t?” Oliver grits out, fingers curled tight and fists trembling with the force.

“Don’t think like that,” Slade replies, voice harder.

“I can’t _stop_ thinking like that,” Oliver snaps, squeezing his eyes shut. A hand grips his shoulder, tightens until it _hurts_ and he sucks in a ragged breath, focusing on it, trying to let it ground him.

“ _We’ll deal with it_ ,” Slade repeats firmly, and Oliver drags his eyes open.

 _I never should have come here_ , he thinks hollowly as his heart pounds in his chest, his ears, staring out at the lights that dot and make up the city, _I should never have done any of this_.

He makes himself breathe through the useless _anger_ in his chest, the worry, trying to make it all settle back down. He needs to _focus_.

It’s quiet for a few minutes.

“Why did you threaten Malcolm?” Oliver eventually asks, after the pressure in his chest has started to lessen, unwind like a knot slowly coming undone.

“He almost got you killed,” Slade answers, letting go of his shoulder.

Oliver looks over. “That was my fault for being careless.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Slade grunts back, looking straight ahead.

Oliver’s brows furrow. “It was my fight.”

“And you have the right to live or die in one, just as I have the right to be pissed about it,” Slade growls back, looking over at him, eye hard.

Oliver pauses, then presses his lips together and looks back out at the city, brows lowered. It’s no different than what he did to the white haired woman who toppled the dominos that got Slade shot. Malcolm is Tommy’s father, and Oliver would regret that, but Malcolm is a warrior, just like he and Slade are. They’ve already made their decisions and acknowledged the costs for living the lives they do.

“You’d kill Tommy’s father?” Oliver finds himself asking quieter. He feels Slade’s gaze on him again and drags his eyes over, looking back. He swallows a little at the look in Slade’s dark eye, heart beating harder. He has to look away, down at the streets below.

 _He would_ , Oliver thinks, swallowing again. It makes the pressure in his chest come back, but it’s different than last time. It’s...terrifying. Oliver was Ra’s sword, he put _everything_ into being a weapon for someone else, but no one-...no one was ever his.

\-----

“Any luck?” Shado asks quietly, stopping next to her chair.

Felicity shakes her head, worrying her inner cheek bloody. She lets out a _frustrated_ sound when she runs into another dead end, slamming her hands on the desk and wincing, shaking them out as the throbbing pain slowly fades. “ _No_ ,” she blows out on a sigh, “There’s nothing on the security feeds, any of them, not of anyone coming or going to the Queen Mansion, they _all_ went offline, and I can’t trace it back to the source. Whoever did this- they have equipment and skill I don’t have.”

Shado rests a hand on her shoulder and Felicity looks up, brows drawn together.

“She’s just a kid,” Felicity says quietly, shaking her head a little and looking back down.

“Maybe compared to the rest of us,” Shado replies, drawing Felicity’s eyes back up, “But she is an adult. They won’t see her as a child, and even if they did…”

“They probably don’t care,” Felicity whispers, eyes stinging a little. Shado bends down to wrap her up in a hug and Felicity rests her chin against Shado’s shoulder, the dark green of her coat. “Harper’s the same age,” Felicity says quietly after a minute, gripping Shado tighter, “I just keep wondering what I was _thinking_ encouraging Wilson to let him get involved when he _shouldn’t be_. And with the police-...I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I know that’s a stupid thing to think with us doing what we’re doing, but I don’t-...”

“It’s not stupid,” Shado replies, pulling back and straightening up, resting her hand back on Felicity’s shoulder as she looks down at her, “No one wants people they care about to get hurt, especially when they’re doing something dangerous.”

Felicity looks up at her, brows drawn helplessly together and Shado smiles a little.

“You’re very compassionate, Felicity,” Shado says softer, giving Felicity’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, “Don’t let the hard times take that away. The world needs it, and I think you do, too.”

Felicity swallows a little, searching Shado’s face, her kind, warm eyes. From anyone else, it would seem hollow, but Shado literally spent _years_ in a place where compassion was the furthest thing from her.

Felicity nods and Shado smiles a little more, giving her shoulder another squeeze. Then Felicity’s computer _pings_ and both their eyes jump forward, Felicity frowning as she taps at her keyboard, at the signal her system is picking up, coming from-

“‘Merlyn Global’?” she reads, staring.

\-----

“Anything?” Joe asks low into his phone, frowning as he watches out his car window.

“ _Not yet_ ,” his father answers, “ _Any activity?_ ”

“No,” Joe replies, scanning the street, “No one’s approached the apartment and the same car hasn’t driven by twice. There’s nothing.”

“ _Keep watching_ ,” his father says.

“Do you think she’ll hold up?” Joe asks quieter before his father can end the call, “She’s just a civilian.” It’s smart to have taken her, she’s at the center of their little group, even if she only really got involved more recently, and has no training, but it feels _wrong_ that they did, even while Joe can see the tactical advantage in it. She’s not a fighter like most of them are, or a computer expert, she’s just a regular person with a stubborn streak a mile wide.

“ _I already told Oliver not to think like that_ ,” his father replies, voice hard.

“That’s not how people work,” Joe snips back, brows lowering and hand tightening around his sword propped low in the footwell, “They try to teach you to force it aside in training, but it’s-...”

“ _It keeps you alive_ ,” his father says.

“But it’s surviving, not living,” Joe replies, leaning his shoulder a little more against his driver side door. His father’s quiet and Joe takes a breath, debating, blows out a quiet sigh as he scans the street again. “I have something I need to tell you after this,” he says lower.

“ _Understood_ ,” his father says after a moment, then the line clicks closed.

Joe lowers his phone and ends the call on his side, shoving it back in his pocket. He keeps watching the street for another five minutes, ten. After an hour, someone gets out of the car that’s been parked a little ways up the opposite side of the street from Diggle’s apartment the whole time he’s been out here and closes their door, looking up at the building. It’s a woman, Joe thinks, if he had to guess from this far down. She crosses the street and heads inside the apartment building and Joe scans the area another minute before getting out of his own car, brows lowered as he takes his sword with him and follows.

\--

Diggle heads over at a knock to his door and checks through the peephole, freezing at who he sees on the other side and breath catching in his chest. He reaches for the lock after a minute and slowly pulls his door open, staring down at-

“Lyla?” he gets out, eyes still wide.

“Hi, Johnny,” Lyly returns, smiling up at him, small and pinched, strained, “We need to talk.”

Diggle stares at her for another moment before jerking back enough to let her in, frowning as his eyes follow her. He closes the door after her and watches Lyla look around his apartment, take in the living room, the bar, the kitchen, the few photos framed on his shelves and his tv opposite the couch, the armchair- Thea was sleeping in last night.

“What are you doing here?” Diggle asks after a minute, and Lyla turns around, that pinched smile back on her face.

“I’m here to deliver a message,” she answers, grimacing a little, “For the vigilante Oliver Queen.”

Diggle stills, eyes widening again as his back straightens. Then his fingers curl and his brows drop. “A.R.G.U.S. took Thea, didn’t they,” he says low. Lyla’s expression tightens and she blows out a breath, nodding. “Why?”

“My boss wants a word with her brother,” Lyla answers, expression solemn as her own brows lower, “He’s a hard man to reach, and a dangerous one, besides. She wanted leverage to make sure he cooperates.”

“So you _kidnapped_ her?” Diggle demands, taking a step forward. Lyla’s eyes harden and he stops.

“This city’s vigilantes are _murdering_ people, John,” she says, voice hard and tense, “Do you know what the _body count_ is up to since they started? Because it’s not somewhere near a low fifty. They’re practically their own _army, individually_.”

“So why the interest in Oliver and not Ghost?” Diggle asks, eyes narrowing, and then he puts it together, because if it’s not the city, it’s the only other thing that Oliver’s involved in. “Your boss is after the League.”

Lyla’s lips pinch and she nods. “We’ve been after them for years, _decades_ , even. There’s never been an opportunity like this. No one from the League has ever been identified as having a living, familial connection that we can track-”

“And use,” Diggle cuts her off.

Lyla’s lips flatten but she doesn’t look away. “Yes,” she acknowledges, “And use. They’ve all been killed, and the League assassins we _have_ found personally have always been the same case: dead, either by their own hand or someone else’s. Never one living and thriving with ties we can use to capture them and get more concrete information on the organization out of.”

“You think _Oliver_ will talk?” Diggle asks incredulously, “He may have been a rich playboy before, but he’s nothing like that now.”

“I think we have very persuasive methods and means to get what we’re after,” Lyla says, voice hard again, “Even from someone like him.”

“You’re going to _torture_ him?” Diggle demands, eyes widening, “ _Lyla_.”

“I’m not going to do anything,” Lyla replies, expression tight, “And no, he won’t be the one who’s tortured.”

Diggle straightens sharply as the realization _hits_ and he curls his hands into tight fists. “You’re going to torture _Thea?_ ” he demands louder, “Lyla, you _can’t!_ She’s just a _kid!_ ”

“I know what she is!” Lyla nearly shouts, quickly lowering her voice after, eyes regretful but resolute, “But this is war, Johnny, and the League has been winning for centuries. If Oliver cooperates, his sister won’t be harmed.”

“So you don’t actually care about the casualties in Starling City, you just care about getting the League,” Diggle says low, eyes just as hard, accusing.

“We care, but it’s a low priority compared to capturing the League,” Lyla replies, her own hands balled into fists at her sides, “I only came by to give you a warning. Don’t get any more tangled up in this than you already are. I won’t be able to do anything to help you if you do.”

She heads around him for the door, dodging his hand when he goes to grab her arm, but then she stills when she gets the door open, Joe’s sword pointed straight at her throat from the other side. Lyla stares at him, eyes a little wide, then relaxes, hands too casually loose at her sides.

“Going to kill me?” she asks.

“Tempted,” Joe replies low, then swings his sword sharply. Lyla flinches but he just sheathes it and steps aside, glaring at her. “But I think I’ll let you live with the knowledge that I could have.”

Lyla swallows a little, glaring back, then she slowly walks past him, keeping an eye on him the whole time until she disappears around the right corner at the end of the hall. Joe and Diggle both hear the stairwell door open and then _bang_ shut.

“Why didn’t you kill her?” Diggle asks low and quiet, frowning down the hall with his brows drawn up together a little, feeling... _torn_. She just told him she did something horrible, to his charge, no less, but he’s more relieved than he’s been in a long time that Joe didn’t kill her, didn’t harm her.

“I put a bug on her car,” Joe replies quietly, making Diggle’s eyes snap over. Joe looks from the hall to him, dark brows lowered over angry eyes. “And I have more restraint than my father when I’m pissed, but only barely.” He heads down the hall and Diggle watches his back retreat, lips pinching. He heads back into his apartment and gets his phone out, texting Felicity and Wilson while grabbing his gun and holster, throwing a jacket on over it and heading out, locking the door behind him.

\--

Oliver watches Malcolm approach on the penthouse roof, hands loose at his sides, ready to draw a gun or knife if need be. Malcolm stops five feet away, a bandage across the bridge of his nose and hands in his suit jacket pockets. The ends flutter gently in the summer breeze, dark blue highlighting orange and yellow-gold from the city lights behind him.

“I found who took Thea,” Malcolm says.

“A.R.G.U.S.,” Oliver replies, brows lowered, “Do you have a location?”

“I do,” Malcolm replies, slowly pulling his hands out of his pockets, injured one wrapped, and offering out a white, folded sheet of paper, “Going to ask me how I got it?”

Oliver takes the paper without a word, flipping it open and reading it. He closes it and shoves it in his pocket, turning.

“What are you going to do, Oliver? Kill them all?” Malcolm asks, hands slipping back in his pockets. Oliver pauses and glances back. “They’re a trained, anti-terrorist group, the kind they call in without anyone knowing and disavow when something goes wrong. One League agent can’t go up against all of them alone, or even with a _friend_ ,” Malcolm adds with a pointed look towards Slade standing back and off to the side.

“What do you want, Malcolm?” Oliver demands.

“For you to kill Ra’s al Ghul,” Malcolm replies, brows lowering, “And you can’t do that if you’re dead.”

Oliver frowns a little behind his bandana but drags his eyes away, turning and walking. “I won’t be the one who’s dead,” he returns darkly, stepping to the edge of the building and over the side, letting himself drop to the one below. Slade follows, his shadow, and they run for the next edge, jumping to the neighbouring building and then dropping over the side, landing in crouches below in the empty alley.

“Where is it?” Slade asks as they stand.

Oliver’s expression tightens. He digs the burner phone out of his pocket and pulls up a map, entering the location address. After he has it, he turns and runs for the end of the alley, Slade’s steps following.

They sprint for forty-five minutes before coming to a stop far past the edge of the city, panting quietly. A large, square building with no logo sits perched in a grassy field on the opposite side of the highway. It looks like a plain, ordinary building, with its own parking lot and trees lining the drive, glass windows making up the lower half of the right facing wall. A.R.G.U.S. has been here the whole time.

“I’ll go in first,” Oliver says low and quiet, feels Slade’s gaze on him and looks over, “We don’t know their defensive capabilities. If I don’t come out in forty minutes…” He reaches over and taps the side of his fist lightly to the grenade shells strapped across Slade’s chest. “Blow it.”

Slade’s brow lowers in the hole in his mask.

“I know what I’m doing,” Oliver replies to the look.

Slade huffs a breath and mutters, “I’m not so sure.”

Oliver looks back forward to the building.

“ _We’re on our way,_ ” Smoak says in his ear, and Oliver twitches a little, forgot about the bluetooth _again_ , “ _Once we’re there, I’ll try to connect to the mainframe and give you eyes and ears. It’d be better if you waited_ -”

Oliver pulls the bluetooth out and hands it over to Slade, Slade’s eye darting back to him. “They’ll search me if they catch me,” Oliver says, digging the burner phone out of his pocket and offering that over too. Slade takes both, fingers curling around them a little before pocketing them and dragging his eye back forward.

Oliver watches the building for another minute, the parked cars filling half the lot, and takes a breath before sprinting forward, leaping across the nearly empty highway to the grass on the other side and heading straight for the trees, drawing a gun out of the back of his pants and running right up to the glass double doors. He barrels through them with his shoulder, glass cracking with the force, and fires at the first guards he sees, grabbing one’s I.D. tag off their neck on the way to the elevator and shooting a few more who come running up on the second floor. Oliver swipes the tag across the reader and heads inside the elevator, shooting out the four ceiling corner cameras before hitting the button for the lowermost floor.

The note didn’t say what floor Thea was being held on, just that she was in this building, so he might as well start at the bottom and work his way up.

The elevator slows to a stop and Oliver moves to the side before the doors open. Bullets hit the back wall as a group of agents open fire and he waits, listening. One gun _clicks_ , then another and the bullets stop. He fires as he runs for the other side of the elevator, getting a glimpse.

Six agents, all with automatics.

He presses his back to the wall as more bullets hit the one opposite, watching them make holes in the metal as he listens again. Several guns click and he runs out as he draws his second one, dodging gunfire while firing at where he last saw the agents. Five go down with bullets in their foreheads while the last one scrambles for his ammo, eyes wide. Oliver darts forward and kicks him hard across the face, sending the agent into the wall, body dropping with a blood smear down the cement. He runs through the first hall, then the second, gets more gunfire his way at the end intersection and fires back, quickly shoving into a room with his shoulder when his guns _click_ empty. He ejects the ammo and slides in new clips before running back out into the hall and firing.

The lowest floor has some labs, engineering, and servers, but is otherwise empty, so he heads back for the elevator after he’s cleared it and takes it up to the next floor, sub-level eight, repeating the whole process all over again.

When he steps out onto sub-level seven, a voice comes over the ceiling:

“ _Mr. Queen_ ,” a woman says, patient and dry. Oliver keeps moving, listening while he checks and clears every room. “ _If you’re looking for your sister, you’ll find her on the floor above you_. _I realize trust isn’t possible, but I’m tired of wasting time and resources on you this evening. Come to sub-level six, and lose the weapons, all of them, if you care for your sister at all. Judging on the fact that you’re here, you do_.”

He finishes clearing the floor first before heading back to the elevator, pausing outside of it. He clenches his jaw and drops his guns to the floor, the rest of his ammo, the knives hidden on his person, in his boots. After, he steps in, doing a mental count as he pushes the button for the floor above.

It’s been twenty minutes. He needs to buy twenty more, maybe less, if Smoak managed to arrive and get connected into the mainframe. If they replenished the guards on the ground floor, she might need Slade and Shado’s help, but Oliver’s depleting A.R.G.U.S.’s ranks enough they might be more focused on him than their front doors.

The elevator stops and the doors slide open, the hallway dark and grey and empty with a door open at the end straight ahead, white light inside the room spilling out. He slowly steps forward as he scans the immediate left and right halls, finds them empty and keeps walking, listening intently as he looks around. He checks the dark windows of the rooms he passes, then the split at the end of the hall, left and right before focusing more on the room. There’s a silver chair inside, bolted to the floor. He takes a breath and walks in, barely glancing back around his hood when he hears the door shut behind him. A light switches on beyond the large, dark pane of glass in the wall to his right and he freezes, eyes landing on Thea cuffed to a similar chair in the next room. Her eyes widen when she sees him and she jerks forward against her restraints, lips moving soundlessly.

“ _Take a seat,_ ” the woman from the ceiling says. Oliver’s brows lower but he walks over, ignoring Thea’s frantically shaking head. He sits, resting his arms on the armrests. Thick cuffs sprout out and lock around his wrists, ankles, and neck, like Thea. A door opens from the left and he drags his eyes away from Thea’s wide, red rimmed ones.

A tall woman walks in, hair cropped short and wide frame trim, the muscular curves of her accentuated through her black suit. Her dark skin stands out against the white of the room with it, gold-brown eyes locked onto him like a hawk.

“My name is Amanda Waller,” the woman says, the same voice from the ceiling, smooth yet hard at the same time, firm, like aged, unbreakable wood, “It’s a pleasure to finally have you here. I’ve been waiting for some time.” She walks close and tugs his bandana down, pushing his hood back. It bunches against the metal cuff around his throat. “Mr. Queen,” she smirks faintly, looking down her nose at him.

Oliver keeps quiet, watching her. She walks over to the window and turns a little, gesturing back to Thea.

“The rules are simple,” Waller says, pulling a small device out of her pocket, “I ask a question, you answer. You don’t answer, I press one of these three buttons.” Her thumb hovers over each in turn, red, yellow, green. “You don’t want to know what they do,” she continues, “But I’m sure we’ll find out anyway. The League isn’t known for talking, but you’re a special case.”

Oliver keeps his breathing steady, back straight against the chair while he watches her, trying to avoid looking at his sister. It’s harder to do this if he sees her, scared and helpless.

 _Because of me_ , he thinks hard, clenching his jaw a little.

“Who runs the League of Assassins?” Waller starts, slowly pacing the length of the viewing window while crossing her hands at her lower back, eyes slanting to him.

“Ra’s al Ghul,” Oliver answers calmly, watching her back.

“‘Ghoul’s Head’, or ‘Demon’s Head’,” Waller translates, looking away again. “How many are your number?”

“Unknown,” he answers.

Her eyes slant to him again, finger hovering over the green button, but she doesn’t press it, still slowly pacing in front of the window like a predator prowling, waiting for the moment to strike.

“What is the League’s goal?” she asks next.

“To purge the world of evil,” Oliver answers a little quieter, lips pressing together at the memory of Ra’s telling him that the first time, of explaining it, of his failure to the League. His eyes lower to the window’s white border. Waller hums but he keeps his eyes down.

“How does the League plan to accomplish this?” she questions.

“Through any means necessary,” he answers. She pauses briefly in her pacing in his periphery but he keeps his eyes down, doesn’t give any indication that he saw.

She’s quiet for a minute. He can practically feel her gaze on him, hear her thinking of what to ask next. “You were tasked with killing your family,” she says. He keeps his lips from pressing together or his fingers curling. “But you failed, and then you stayed in the city. Is Ra’s al Ghul aware of this?”

“Unknown,” Oliver answers.

It’s quiet a moment.

“You’re being very cooperative,” Waller purrs, and he glances up, “All the other League agents killed themselves right away, most even bit out their own tongues.”

It sounds like a taunt, and guilt squeezes Oliver’s chest, _shame_. He would have done that himself before, but now-

Waller keeps pacing, eyes locked on him. “There’s rumors that Ra’s al Ghul is immortal,” she starts after a minute. Oliver keeps his jaw from clenching, already knows where this is going. “Some say he’s just prolonged his life. How old is Ra’s al Ghul?”

Oliver keeps quiet and Waller raises a hand, snapping her fingers before pushing the green button. Thea _jolts_ sharply beyond the window and her scream echoes around the room, making Oliver jerk sharply, eyes widening and snapping over to the window as he sits up ramrod straight. He grits his teeth as he makes himself watch her struggle against the cuffs, fingers like claws and head thrown back as electricity, or _something_ , courses through her. Waller presses the button again and Thea collapses in the chair like a puppet with cut strings, heavy breaths panting through the ceiling speakers.

“How does he supposedly keep himself alive for centuries at a time? We thought he was passing his mantle down, and that does appear to be the case, but it’s passed down too slowly for our records to be accurate,” Waller says next, pressing the button again when Oliver keeps silent. He grits his teeth harder at the sound of his sister’s scream, the way she jolts into an arch and her fingers splay and claw at the end of the armrests again, heart pounding hard in his chest.

 _Nothing must come before the League: not vengeance, not love, not passion for anything save the mission,_ Ra’s voice says in his head.

Oliver clenches his jaw tight as his brows draw together.

But he can’t let Thea suffer through this. This is _his fault_. He damned her the moment he came back to the city. Even if it means betraying the League, betraying Ra’s, shouldn’t he be the one to be punished-

Waller presses the button and Thea collapses again, head dropped forward and long hair hanging limp as her ragged breaths pant through the speakers around the room again. Oliver’s fingers curl while he grits his teeth, pressure mounting in his chest, _indecision_.

He could tell Waller what she wants to know, but that’s no guarantee that she’ll let Thea go, either, and-

He grits his teeth harder.

As much as he _**hates**_ himself for it, as much as his heart is pounding in his chest at his sister’s _pain_ and _distress_ , he was taught for four years to _never_ betray the League, not for anything, for any _one_. It is your home, your responsibility, your duty, the only thing between the world and devastation, too important for any one life to take precedence, but made up of lives to be whole. To betray the League is to betray yourself. Even as fallen as he is, as much damage as he has already done, he still-

But betraying _Thea_ is-

“What was your position within the League?” Waller continues, cutting off his thoughts.

“ _Apprentice_ ,” he grinds out, anger a swirling vortex in his chest, circling the black hole that is his- his _duty_ , his _responsibility,_ to the League, to _Ra’s,_ even now. He can’t bring himself to betray them in this way, even after _everything_ , he _can’t_ \- But he can’t let _Thea_ -

“Who’s?” Waller asks.

“ _Ra’s al Ghul’s_ ,” Oliver grits, fingers curling hard against the ends of the armrests.

Waller stills in her pacing and turns sharply towards him. He glares over and she watches him intently, brows climbing a little. “He trained you personally,” she says, looking surprised for a second before her eyes narrow, lips curving up a hair like she smells blood in the water. “Does he have other apprentices?” she asks next, walking over and slowly circling his chair like a shark.

“ _Yes_ ,” Oliver answers flatly.

“How many?” Waller asks, eyes never leaving him.

“Unknown,” he grits out. She presses the yellow button and Thea jerks in the chair, the metal armrests slowly turning red as she _screams_ \- “ _I don’t know!_ ” Oliver shouts, jerking forward against his restraints and glaring over at Waller as she paces out of his periphery to behind him.

Thea’s chair fades back to silver as she drops again, panting raggedly and head hanging to the side, eyes squeezed shut as tears slide down her cheeks and sweat drips down her chin. “ _Ollie_ …” she croaks out, and his heart _squeezes_ tight.

“Where, specifically, is the League located?” Waller asks next, and Oliver stills, fingers curling tighter over the armrests. _He **can’t**_ \- Waller presses the red button and metal _spikes_ go through Thea’s hands and arms and she jolts again, screaming, rough and hoarse and _**pained**_ as she struggles weakly to get away from them and _can’t_.

Oliver strains against his bindings, teeth gritted and tongue a heavy weight in his mouth. _He **can’t** tell Waller- But Thea- But he **can’t**_ \- _**But**_ -

“ _ **Ollie!**_ ” Thea yells, sobbing brokenly, “ _ **Ollie, please!**_”

His heart squeezes so hard in his chest it knocks his breath out as Waller paces back around in front of him. He glares sharply up at her, baring his teeth. “ _I will **kill** you for this_,” he growls. Waller raises a brow down at him, lips curling up as she keeps up that steady, sedate pacing around his chair.

“That chair is reinforced steel,” Waller says, pacing out of Oliver’s periphery again. His eyes dart up to Thea, brows drawn together and teeth gritted as her voice sobs over the speakers, died down but _wet_ and _**broken**_ , his _chest_ aching so hard it’s physically _painful_. “We’ve been monitoring the footage on both you and ‘Ghost’, and we know you’re both enhanced. That chair _will_ hold you, Sagittarius.”

Oliver freezes, eyes flicking up as Waller comes back around.

Waller’s lips curve up in a small smirk, and she quotes-

 

“ _What he didn’t tell you is that Sagittarius is the archer,” Shado says, taking a seat on Oliver’s other side, laying back and staring up at the stars with him and Slade_.

 

“We decided to give it to you as a codename,” Waller says, snapping Oliver out of the memory, heart still and breath frozen in his chest as the _implications_ stack on top of each other like bricks, heavy and _**damning**_. “But it seems you’re more suited to the one Starling City gave you. Slade Wilson _is_ ‘Ghost’, isn’t he? He didn’t even bother really changing his getup.”

Oliver stares up at her, mind blank with low static while his eyes search Waller’s face as she comes to a stop in front of him, blocking Thea, Waller’s lips curling up further like a cheshire cat.

“ _Yes_ , Mr. Queen,” she answers his unspoken question, eyes on his, “We were aware you were on Lian Yu with Slade Wilson, Gulong Shado, and Gulong Yao Fei. We hired Edward Fyers to do a job, and you and your little friends got entangled. I can honestly say _you_ in particular surprised me, and I don’t often get surprised. I wasn’t expecting you to survive the Amazo explosion, even _with_ the Mirakuru in you, and end up with the very League of Assassins A.R.G.U.S. has been after for years.”

Waller leans down and braces her hands on the cuffs over his wrists while he keeps staring at her, frozen, leaning her face close and studying him with that same smirk on her face.

“And now I’ve got you right where I want you,” she purrs.

 _She knew_ , Oliver thinks distantly as the static in his head grows louder, _She knew the whole time. She could have gotten us off the island before any of it ever happened: Yao Fei dying, Slade dying, **him** dying, the mirakuru, **Ivo** \- Slade could have gone home to Joe. Shado wouldn’t have lost her father. And I wouldn’t have_-

_I wouldn’t have become a monster._

_**It’s her fault.** _

**_She knew._ **

The static in his head crescendos and crests like a wave with the rage in his chest, so _hot_ and _sudden_ and _**consuming**_ -

And then it goes _cold_ and _silent_ as something inside him _**snaps**_.

He lunges forward with a _yell_ and Waller jerks back, eyes darting down to the restraints. He pulls at them, jerks and tugs wildly like an animal caught in a trap and _screams_ , no words, just sounds, angry and _furious_ , pulling at his ankles, his wrists, his neck, screams choking as he strains against the metal. Distantly, his bones feel like they’re going to break but he doesn’t stop, _**can’t**_ stop, is vaguely aware of his blood starting to make his wrists shift slick against the cuffs, his neck, and the metal _groans_ , Waller quickly stepping back. She turns and runs for the door, throwing it open just as she hears metal _rend_ and _**snap**_ -

A hand closes around her throat from behind and her eyes widen just before she’s thrown back, hitting the wall on the other side of the room with a sickening _**crack**_. Oliver grabs her arm and throws her through the window at Thea, who screams as the glass shatters, making his eyes snap up. Thea stares, heart beating hard and fast as her brother’s green eyes stare back, _wild_ and _furious_ and glowing a little brighter, nothing she’s ever seen on a person before-

No, she did see it once, in that dog’s eyes, the one that was eating the assassin in the forest, something animal and _ravenous_ -

Her brother hops the windowsill, clothes tearing on the broken glass, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he moves towards her, eyes unrecognizable-

A door bangs open behind her and his head jerks up, bangs flying into his face, and then he’s- _gone_ and she hears men _screaming_ , hears- _things **tearing**_ , _slick_ and _wet_ , like the sounds that dog made when it was eating the assassin-

Her stomach roils while she stares wide eyed straight ahead into the opposite room, trembling in the chair, pain spiking from the spikes through her hands and feet and arms. She hears distant gunfire, hears more yelling and screaming and breathes harder, heart beating rabbit quick in her chest-

 _That’s not-... **that’s not her brother**_ -

He runs, leaps off walls and twists, tearing into throats, gouging out eyes, pulling hair and throwing people into walls, into each other. He tears into one man’s guts with his fingers, the man’s gurgled yell washing over him like air, punches through another’s chest, kicks through another’s stomach and jerks his leg sharply, throwing the body off and into its comrades. He claws and tears and punches and kicks and bites, tears into someone’s throat with his teeth before shoving their head so hard into a wall their skull crumples between it and his hand like twigs _snapping,_ brain and blood and bone fragments making a mess all over his hand. He’s barely aware of the blood soaking into his clothes, coating his skin, getting into his messy hair. His thoughts are scattered, wild, _blank_. He just keeps _**moving**_ -

He goes until there’s no one left, goes up to the next floor and does it all over again as the _rage_ drives him, _hot-cold_ like freezerburn, fills his body and limbs and head, goes to the next floor and the next until he reaches the number for ground level and stops, staring at it.

There was-...

Something.

Something to do with time.

Something he needed to do before-

 _Thea_ , some low, deep part of him whispers through the cracks, and his eyes widen before he whips around and sprints back down, through five floors of carnage and stench he barely glances at until he finds the room again, Thea’s back to him and brown hair limp from sweat. He runs over and strains as he tears the cuffs off her ankles, wrists, and neck, staring down at her as she stares back up, her dark blue eyes wide as she trembles. He shifts forward- and she _jolts_ back against the chair, regardless of the spikes still running her through with a scared, _animal_ sound in the back of her throat that stabs right through the rage in his chest. Oliver’s eyes drop to his hands, lifting them a little.

There’s blood on them, under his nails, soaked into his sleeves. He’s covered in-

He swallows, finally registers the salty taste of it in his mouth and slowly drags his eyes back up. “Thea,” he says, quiet and hoarse. She jerks a little in the chair, still staring wide eyed up at him. Oliver slowly kneels and she tries to push back further away. He presses his lips hard together and makes himself look up at her. “Thea,” he repeats, voice rough from all the- yelling, “I won’t hurt you.”

She stares down at him, seeing him, not seeing him. “You-...” she trails off after a tense, silent minute, swallowing, voice just as hoarse as his is.

“I won’t hurt _you_ ,” Oliver repeats firmly, making himself hold her stare even though the _shame_ is _**unbearable**_. What he did- _in front_ of her, _**to**_ _her_ -

“Ollie…?” she asks, so small and quiet. His eyes widen a little as the guilt _crushes_ down on his chest. He swallows hard and jerks his head in a small nod and she _flies_ forward, off the spikes and chair and Oliver barely gets his arms up in time to catch her, even with the mirakuru. She buries her face in the driest part of his hoodie and he- gently wraps his arms around her, carefully scooping her up like she’s fragile, because she _is_ , she _is fragile_. She shouldn’t _**be** **here**_.

The building _rocks_ with an explosion somewhere above their heads, ground trembling beneath them and Oliver’s eyes dart up, Thea’s arms wrapping tighter around his neck as she buries her face further into his hoodie, blood smearing all over her where they’re pressed together.

 _Slade_.

 _The bombs_.

That’s what it was, like Oliver told him to.

He holds Thea closer, tighter, getting her legs pulled in as close as he can. “Don’t look,” he says low and quiet. Her arms squeeze tight around his neck and he squeezes her back before running, sprinting out of the room and for the stairwell, ramming his way in with his shoulder. He skips the stairs entirely and leaps up from railing to railing, clearing the five floors and using his shoulder to shove his way out the steel door into the lobby. He sprints straight for the glass across the room as another explosion goes off, cement blown forward from the left as the floor shakes. He stumbles a little before getting his footing back and turns, taking the flying rubble to his back and gritting his teeth while he keeps moving. He turns again and _rams_ his shoulder as hard as he can into the long crack going down the pane of glass ahead, nearly tumbling out into the warm night air as it shatters just before another explosion goes off. He feels the heat of it at his back as he keeps moving, hears cement and glass _shatter_ , _groan_ , and _crumble_ behind him and only stops when the heat dissipates and the cloud of dust lessens from above his head to below his waist, turning and looking back at the building.

The outer building is rubble, metal and cement scattered over the ground floor as the dust billows out, slowly dissipating. The sub-levels are probably still intact, but the upper floors are gone.

Oliver glances down to check Thea, still curled up against him, then scans the area, finds two cars parked off to the left side in the grass with their headlights on like search beams. He tightens his grip a little more on his sister before starting to walk over. The group gathered there all turn once he’s closer, nearly silhouetted beyond the light, all of them freezing as he steps into the headlights.

He’s covered in blood, he can see it, smell it, feel it. He’s getting it all over Thea, who’s still bleeding too. He’s-

Oliver stops, doesn’t know how to move again once he does, just staring back as they all stare at him, wide eyes shifting between him and Thea curled up tight in his arms. Smoak covers her hand with her mouth.

Slade moves first, walks into the headlights to him and grips his shoulder, guiding Oliver through the beams to the back of the car and opening the door. The inside light comes on and Oliver gets in when Slade presses down on his shoulder, careful of Thea still gripping onto him near bruisingly tight, and then the door shuts, plunging them into dark briefly before the opposite door opens and Shado climbs in, a medkit already propped open in her hand. She reaches up and taps the inner lights on and pauses when she gets a look at Oliver, at Thea’s tight grip around his neck. She reaches forward and slowly smooths a hand over Thea’s shoulder. Thea twitches and curls up impossibly tighter and the guilt in Oliver’s chest squeezes tight. He slowly lowers his head down, whispering in her ear, “She’ll help you.”

Thea doesn’t move for a minute, then very, very slowly uncurls, pulling her face out of Oliver’s hoodie just enough to peek over at Shado, some of her cheek blood stained. Shado smiles gently, slowly holding up the medkit. “Let me take care of your injuries?” she asks, soft and quiet. Thea stares at her for a long minute before shifting her eyes up to Oliver, then back. He gradually loosens his grip on her as she slowly uncoils, Shado gesturing to Thea’s feet first and waiting to get a nod before actually touching her again. Thea twitches a little at the first touch but holds still, one arm still wound around the back of Oliver’s neck.

Oliver keeps his eyes down on the back of the tan seat in front of them, trying to keep a lid on the tangled _mess_ in his chest, bangs hanging limp and bloody in his face. He wants to keep holding Thea, make sure she’s really _safe_ , but at the same time, the longer it’s quiet, the longer his thoughts have time to regroup, the less he can- _stand it_.

 _He **did this** **to her**_.

“You tore them apart,” Thea whispers blankly at some point, Shado’s hands pausing briefly on the one of Thea’s she’s currently bandaging before she continues. Thea’s eyes shift up and Oliver looks down at her, jaw clenching. “With your hands,” Thea continues, brows slowly drawing together a little through the blank shock still on her face, “Were you going to do that to me? Or...”

“I was going to get you out,” Oliver answers quietly, tightening his grip a little before making himself loosen up again, hates the way her eyes search his face like she’s not sure, hates how unsure _he_ is. He was aware the fastest he’s ever been this time after his mind blanked out and he went into a rage, but...what he doesn’t know is if that will be the case next time, or the time after it. His berserker moods are unpredictable, he learned early on. He was rarely aware of what he was doing before. Just because he was more aware this time, doesn’t mean he’s going to be as aware the next time, or as quickly. He’s- _dangerous_ , and the only one of them that can really stop him is Slade.

Thea nods a little, wincing as Shado bandages up the length of her arm, over the burns. Thea closes her eyes, slowly pulling her arm from around Oliver’s neck when Shado finishes and needs to get to the other one. Someone gets in the front of the car and Oliver glances up just enough to see Slade’s stubbled jaw and broad shoulder around the tan driver’s seat, then someone else slips into the passenger side and Oliver looks over, finds Joe there. The car starts just as Shado finishes bandaging Thea’s other arm and Shado shifts back, closing the medkit and pulling her seatbelt on. Slade reaches up and turns the inside lights off and the car plunges into dark as they start reversing off the grass.

The drive back into the city is quiet. Thea falls asleep in his arms at some point and Oliver watches her, feels her trembling faintly from stress and exhaustion, and the blood covering them drying sticky. He shifts her over after a few minutes and she barely stirs, too deep under. He gently sets her in the middle of the seat and she curls into his side, making him freeze. He presses his lips flat together as the _guilt_ weighs down on his chest and rests a hand on her furthest shoulder, eyes catching on Slade’s glancing up at him in the rearview mirror. They watch each other for a moment before Oliver looks away to the back side window, watching the buildings get closer in the quiet of the car.

They stop at the Queen Mansion first. Shado gets out and then Diggle kneels in, eyes catching on Oliver and then dropping to Thea, then back up. Diggle raises his eyebrows a little in question and Oliver’s grip tightens a fraction before he makes himself let go, watching Diggle slowly, gently scoop her up.

“I’ve got her,” Diggle whispers. Oliver nods a little, heart...clenching as he watches her go. It was starting to get unbearable, having her so close, but now that she’s gone, he feels... _bereft_.

Joe gets out with a few low words to his father that Oliver ignores, focused on watching Diggle head up to the house with Thea in his arms. The inside car lights turn off again with the closing of the passenger door, putting the car back into the dark as Joe walks over and gets into Diggle’s car, inner lights coming on briefly before the door shuts again. Oliver catches a glimpse of Smoak sitting in the backseat, side of her head resting against the glass and eyes closed, glasses slid a little down her nose.

Oliver looks back to Diggle and Thea, watching until they’re in the house and the front door is closed behind them before letting his eyes drag away. They drop down to his bloody hands resting uselessly in his lap, arms empty of their burden. He feels like he’s out at sea again, left with his thoughts and guilt and _shame_. Now that Thea isn’t a distraction, his thoughts circle the drain, back to what he did, how he did it, _why_. The back door opens again before he can sink too far and he blinks and squints in the light, pausing when he finds Shado standing in front of him. She bends down into the car and reaches up, cupping his cheek gently and just...looking at him, warm brown eyes painfully understanding. She leans close after a minute and presses a soft kiss to his forehead, lips a little chapped against his skin, and rubs a thumb over his cheekbone before pulling away a bit and looking over to Slade.

“Take care of him,” she says quietly. Slade nods and Shado looks back to Oliver, smiling a little sadly and rubbing his bloody cheek again. “ _We care for you, Beloved_ ,” she says in Mandarin before pulling away, hand sliding off his cheek, and Oliver misses her already. She closes the door and leaves him staring out the window in the dark again, the tangled knots of his thoughts still and quiet. He takes a breath and unsticks himself, internally and from the seat, shifting a little and jerking a bit when he needs to get his back unstuck from where the blood has dried him to it. The car shifts into gear and starts moving and his eyes dart back over to the mansion, watching it roll away as they turn and head back down the drive. He turns his head to watch it shrink and fade out the back window as they turn onto the road, the dark shapes of the trees lining the property whipping by until they turn into different ones, bushes and other shapes and flat, dark, open fields.

They drive back into the city, Oliver coming out of his head enough to pull his hood and bandana back up and keep his head down. His thoughts are still quiet as the skyscrapers roll by, the orange, yellow, and white-blue city lights slanting through the car as they pass. Slade turns down one road, then another, takes them through the city until they start hitting the edges. He pulls into a hotel parking lot, drives down the length of it before parking in front of a few rooms near the end, turning the headlights off and then the car. With the engine off they lapse into silence, neither moving for a few moments until Slade gets his door open and steps out, waiting. Oliver scoots over to Slade’s side of the car and gets the back door open, following suit. Slade locks the car and they both shut their doors, Oliver following Slade up the stairs to room nineteen, the one on the end of the second story. Slade keeps his head down as he gets his key in the lock and turns it, pushing the door open. Oliver follows him into the black of the room and Slade shuts the door behind him, locking it. The key drops to the nightstand and Slade rounds the bed, heading straight back for the bathroom. He turns the bathroom light on and looks over, waiting again.

Oliver looks around briefly, sees Slade’s duffle barely peeking out from beneath the bed but nothing else out of place, the sheets on the bed made enough to be passable. His eyes land on Slade nearly silhouetted by the bathroom light behind him and walks over into it, eyes squinting a little as they shift over to the mirror above the sink. He pulls his bandana down and pushes his hood back.

He has blood all over him, like he thought, smeared across his face, his mouth, his chin and down his neck, across his forehead and dried into his messy hair, all over his clothes. He can still vaguely taste it, the salty tang still lingering on his tongue, in his mouth. He lifts his hands and looks down at them again, the dark red nearly black where it’s dried beneath his nails, can still feel bone and brain crushing beneath them.

His fingers curl a little.

Slade steps past him and turns the shower on, sticking his hand in to test the water before pulling back and turning to him. Slade reaches up and pauses when he grips the zipper of Oliver’s hoodie, watching him. Oliver doesn’t move and Slade pulls it down, slips the hoodie off his shoulders before gathering it up inside out and heading past him back into the bedroom. Oliver turns a little to look back, sees him dig a black garbage bag out of his duffel and shove the hoodie into it. Oliver reaches up to untie the bandana from around his neck, dropping it in when Slade comes back and holds the bag open. He pulls his t-shirt up and off and drops that in too, gets his boots off and puts those in, his socks, his pants until he’s standing there naked. Slade ties the bag closed and heads back into the room and Oliver makes his feet move, walking to the shower and stepping in, only bothering with the curtain so he doesn’t accidentally splash bloody water on the bathroom floor. He hears the front room’s door shut as he stands under the hot spray, staring down at the water running pink and red along the off-white shower floor, swirling down the drain.

He remembers the look on Thea’s face, the sound of Waller’s voice, the agents he killed with his bare hands _screaming_ -

The stillness Shado gave him fades away and the ocean in him _crashes,_ sudden and _violent_. He presses his bloody hands to the shower wall, smudging red across it, bends forward to press his head against it and keeps pressing as the pressure builds in his chest until he hears the tile _crack_. Oliver grits his teeth hard while his chest constricts _tight_.

 _He didn’t stop Waller from hurting his sister. He didn’t tell her about Ra’s, the League. Thea **saw** **him**_ -

His fingers curl tight and he squeezes his eyes shut, sliding down until his knees hit the floor, pressing his head hard to the wall again while his body shakes with rage, useless- _rage_ and _**shame**_. He yanks a hand back and balls it into a fist, throwing it forward- aborting the movement and jerking it to a stop before it can hit and letting it drop. He reaches up and presses it back to the tile, chest so tight he can barely _breathe_.

He already- He already used so much violence, against the A.R.G.U.S. agents, his _sister, his **little sister**_ , someone he should _ **never**_ -

He presses his head harder against the wall as the shame and guilt crush his lungs, squeeze a strained sound out of his throat as his eyes start to sting. He grits his teeth on a scream as he shakes, strangling it before it can get past his tongue. He did enough of that too.

He’s not sure how long he sits there, breathing ragged around his clenched teeth, shaking and jerking a little against the shower wall as he tries to make it through the storm raging inside his- _**everything**_. But eventually, it gradually, slowly dies down, not gone, but lessened, leaves him slow like a great flood washing out. He sits there in the water, drained and panting, staring blurrily at it going down the drain. After a while, he slowly sits up, then makes himself push to his feet and reach for the shampoo bottle.

He keeps his eyes on the floor, watches the water run red again as he scrubs at his hair, his scalp. He has to shampoo it three times before it finally stops, then uses the conditioner and moves onto the bar soap, rubbing it across his skin until the water stops running pink again. Once he’s done, he shuts the shower off and drags the curtain open, reaching over for a towel and drying himself off before stepping out. He pauses in front of the mirror and looks over again, wet bangs hanging in his face, not clumped and covered with red this time. He can see the same _shame_ and _guilt_ and exhaustion in his eyes that he feels and makes himself hold his own stare.

Slade’s still not back when he steps out into the main room, probably went to dispose of his bloody clothes. Oliver’s eyes stop on the bed and he stares at it blankly for a minute before walking over and dropping to sit on the edge, just- staring down at the dark, short carpet, feeling the roughness of it under his feet while he grips the towel in his lap. He makes himself focus out of his drifting, accusing thoughts enough to rub at his wet hair with the towel until it stops dripping everywhere, then drops back across the bed and stares up at the off-white, splatter patterned ceiling, thinking about everything that happened, everything Waller said, and nothing.

He’s not sure how long he lays there, but eventually he hears a car pull up and shut off down below outside, a door open and shut, then nothing for a minute until the key turns in the lock and the door opens, distant streetlight spilling in dim across the ceiling. The door shuts and Oliver hears the key hit the nightstand again, hears Slade take his jacket and boots off before heading into the bathroom.

Oliver keeps staring up at the ceiling, listens to the shower turn on, doesn’t hear the door shut or the curtain so it’s louder, the sound of the water hitting the shower floor shifting with Slade’s movements unobstructed. It doesn’t last long, a few minutes at the most before the water shuts off and he hears Slade moving around in the bathroom, then the bathroom light shuts off and disappears from where it was slanted across the ceiling, plunging the room into black. Oliver focuses on the sound of Slade’s steps, barely there on the carpet, feels the sheets shift and then the bed dip above his head. He makes himself roll up to sit so Slade doesn’t sit on his hair, looking back over his shoulder after a few moments, can make out Slade’s shape in the dark where he’s sitting back against the headboard.

It’s quiet. Slade doesn’t ask him any questions, doesn’t tell him anything, doesn’t even look over at him, just sits and breathes in the dark with him. Eventually, Slade moves, shifts down to lay in the bed and tugs the sheets up to his waist. Oliver sits for another couple minutes before dropping the towel to the floor and curling up on top of the sheets, and then it’s quiet again for five minutes, ten, before fingers press lightly to his back, barely there. Oliver curls up tighter before pressing back into them a little, the _shame_ spiking through him again like a hot-freezing lance through his insides.

There’s nothing except the pressure building back up in his chest again, and after a few minutes, Oliver says hoarsely, quietly, “I didn’t stop her, the woman who was torturing Thea.”

Slade doesn’t say anything and Oliver’s throat tightens, gritting his teeth.

“She asked about the League, and I- hesitated,” he whispers, gritting his teeth again and curling his fingers on the sheets. A calloused hand slowly curls around his hip and Oliver curls up tighter, the shame crushing him. “I couldn’t bring myself to- even with Thea-” he cuts himself off, throat too tight, can still hear the sound of her scream in his head, high pitched and raw and _**hurt**_. She _begged_ him. His little sister _**begged**_ him. All he had to do was _**say a few words**_.

Slade keeps a hold of his hip, not restricting, just there, thumb rubbing over it. Oliver expects Slade to push him away, but he doesn’t, and Oliver doesn’t feel like he _deserves_ _it_.

 _Slade would never do that to Joe_ , he thinks hard, certain, staring down at the sheets in the dark, _Not **ever**_.

Oliver swallows past his closed throat, whispers when it’s loosened up enough to talk again, “She saw who I am in the worst possible way, and looked at me like-...” _Like I was a monster_ , he thinks, can’t bring himself to say it. He’s always known what he is. He just...It’s different here, in the city, around people who aren’t like him. Even in the League, there still wasn’t anyone quite like him, but they were _more_ like him than anyone here, everyone except...

Slade’s arm slides around his waist and slowly pulls him back until Oliver’s back is flush with his chest. Oliver curls up tighter, _away_ and Slade follows him, broad, warm body curling around him.

“ _Why?_ ” Oliver chokes out, tears welling, “ _Why are you_ -...” His throat goes too tight to talk again and he squeezes his eyes shut, tears spilling over while he grits his teeth. Slade doesn’t answer him. Lips brush the back of his shoulder and Oliver trembles as he squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

 _Why are you still here?_ he thinks, turning his face and muffling a ragged breath into the sheets, trembling harder. Slade’s arm tightens around his waist and it just makes the pressure in Oliver’s chest worse, makes his throat constrict that much more.

 _I don’t deserve it_ , he thinks, curling up as tight as he can, but Slade just follows him again, wraps around him even more. _**I don’t deserve it**_.

Slade is the only one who doesn’t make him feel like what he is is _wrong_. Slade points out when he’s fucked up, shuts him down when he’s going too far, but he never makes Oliver feel like- like the monster he is is something to be _ashamed_ of, just-... _made_ _better_. Slade makes him _want_ to be better, _want_ to be someone Thea can call her big brother again, that his mother’s embraces _deserve_ , that he’s-...

That _he’s_ not ashamed of.

He didn’t betray the League, but he still betrayed _himself_ anyway by betraying Thea. She _begged_ him for help, and he did _**nothing**_.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Oliver chokes out as something in him _breaks_ , gripping the sheets tight as his eyes burn, “ _ **I’m sorry**_.”

“I know, kid,” Slade whispers back near his ear, making Oliver twitch a little.

“ _I let them_ -” Oliver struggles to get out, “ _How can you_ -”

“You’re crying,” Slade cuts him off quietly. Oliver goes silent, cracking his eyes open and staring blurrily down at the white sheets in the dark. “If you weren’t torn up about it, I wouldn’t be here,” Slade finishes.

Oliver pulls in another ragged breath, repeats, “ _But I let them_ -”

“You slaughtered all of them,” Slade cuts him off again, voice low and hard, “With your own two hands. You didn’t ‘ _let_ ’ them do anything.”

Oliver goes silent again at that. He closes his eyes tight and listens to them both breathe, his ragged breaths and heartbeat pounding in his ears with the backdrop of the distant traffic outside, muffled through the hotel walls. Slade stays pressed warm all along his back, still not leaving him alone in the dark.


	30. I want you to live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PAT5slBnx7Y - "December" by Wooden Arms

Moira quietly turns the handle and cracks Thea’s door open, just enough to peek inside. She sees brown hair in the early morning gray light coming through the curtains, but the rest of Thea is a lump under her red comforter and sheets, slowly rising and falling with sleep. She woke up screaming an hour ago and Mr. Diggle helped show Moira how to change her daughter’s bandages. The-...burns, are minor, even the puncture wounds, small and thin, but _seeing_ them-

Moira covers her mouth with a hand, watching Thea for another minute with her brows drawn up together before quietly closing the door and continuing down the hall. She stops halfway and takes a shuddery breath, eyes stinging again. She forces it down and keeps walking, heading for the stairs down to the first floor.

She already cried when Mr. Diggle told her what happened, enough of it, at least, that a group called A.R.G.U.S. went after Oliver through Thea and used her to try and get him to talk about the group he used to be a part of, some ‘League of Assassins’.

She turns at the bottom of the stairs, heading down the hall and pausing when she finds the guest room door shut, redirecting back to the stairs and up to the second floor. Mr. Diggle is probably still sleeping, probably needs it. He stayed up with her last night to help keep an eye on Thea. Moira needs sleep too, she knows she does, but instead she’s haunting her own halls, running on fumes while she thinks in endless loops, about Thea, Oliver, the Glades. They finally released a body count late last night after she’d gotten home. 1,039 people dead, another five hundred injured.

Moira pauses in the hall and closes her eyes firmly against the guilt, fingers curling tight.

All those lives lost, all of them on her hands. Not just hers, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s complicit. She could have said something, maybe she _should_ have, but Thea and Walter-

She shakes her head a little, makes herself focus on the _now_ instead of the _could haves_ and guilt trying to drown her and keeps walking, forcing her head back above the water. She pauses at Thea’s door for another long moment before continuing on to her own room.

Mr. Diggle said Oliver was physically unharmed, from what he saw, and that- _Wilson_ took her son somewhere, which still makes her grit her teeth a little. It’s not even the fact that Wilson is a man, though that does surprise her, but he is older, not as old as her, but closer to her age than Oliver’s, _has_ a son of his own and is a _mercenary_ , for all intents and purposes. But mostly what...gets her is it seems her son’s...partners have changed with him, and it just makes the differences between who her son used to be and who he’s _become_ all the more painfully glaring. He’s still her son, still her little boy, but so much of him is...so far removed from what she remembers, who he was. He’s so much- _harder,_ broken, and she’s worried, because Wilson doesn’t seem to be much better.

Moira goes to close her left bedroom door behind her and pauses, reconsidering and leaving it open in case Thea comes to her, or has another nightmare, and heads further into her room, sitting and deflating on the edge of her bed with a long, exhausted sigh.

 _Both my children_ , she thinks, staring down at her hands, turning them over so they’re palm up, _And all those people...No matter what I do_ … She looks over her shoulder at her empty bed and turns, rolling onto it on her side towards Walter’s half, resting her hand up on his pillow. It’s fortunate he’s at a conference in London for another week, logically she knows that, because she could _never_ explain any of this to him, but-

She curls up tighter, squeezing her eyes shut while she grips his pillow, throat closing on her.

... _She wishes he was **here**_.

\-----

Oliver surfaces slowly, feels cushion under him and something firm under his head and takes stock of himself, trying to filter through the morning sleep laying heavy over his thoughts. The memories come back slow, not a rush or a tide like last night, but weighted and there, a steady line of them for him to see like bright red buoys bobbing in dark water. The bodies, the blood, A.R.G.U.S., Waller...Thea, Shado and Slade helping him, after.

He slowly cracks his eyes open and flicks them up, stilling.

Slade’s face is turned towards him, brows drawn together a little and mouth open a fraction while he breathes slow and deep in sleep. Oliver’s laying on his side facing him, head resting on Slade’s outstretched right arm, which would explain the firm something under his head. He watches Slade sleep for a long minute, then another, something warm and aching slowly curling deep in his chest with the ache of last night. He swallows a little and closes his eyes, brows drawing together, and slowly lifts his head, just as slowly, carefully rolling away and up off the bed to his feet. He looks back to make sure Slade’s still asleep, Slade’s brows gradually smoothing out now that Oliver’s probably not blocking the circulation in his arm, then turns and walks into the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

He uses the toilet first, washes his hands, then cups his palms together under the warm stream and lifts them, pressing his face into the water, feels it push out and overflow around his cheeks, slide down his arms and neck to his chest. He lowers his hands and cups them back under the water and does it again, keeps his eyes firmly shut as the memories drift around the edges, dragging guilt and shame in their wake.

“ _You’re crying_ ,” Slade had said quietly, “ _If you weren’t torn up about it, I wouldn’t be here_.”

The backs of Oliver’s eyes start to sting and he cups more water, holding his breath and pressing his face into it, trying to stave off the tightening in his chest, his throat.

He can’t...he can’t do what he did to Thea again. No matter what-...no matter what someone asks him about the League, Ra’s, even if Ra’s orders Oliver himself, he can’t-... _he can’t hurt her again_. He’d rather die than be the reason she screams like that ever again. Maybe that makes him weak, being pulled back into the material world by connections he should have severed completely, but-

Oliver lifts his face out of his hands, lets the water slide down his forearms and drip from his elbows to the teal sink counter, the floor, staring down at the water running quietly down the drain. He reaches forward and shuts it off, taking another breath before looking up at himself in the mirror, at his green eyes, his messy hair, the scar down his cheek. There’s pieces of who he used to be still left inside him, pieces of Oliver Queen, Thea’s brother, Moira and Robert Queen’s son, beneath the scars, through them.

He drops his eyes to his hands, looking at them, no red beneath his nails.

It is what it is. He is whatever he is, and whatever that is...can’t do what happened last night again. He won’t survive it, one way or another. For better, probably for worse, he’s changed now, damned all over again, and he can’t-...he can’t go back to what he was, a hard, devoted machine that would have left Thea to die, that would have bit off his own tongue rather than told Waller a single word, spare her a single breath. The League doesn’t disapprove of feeling, you can still love, still have connections, but those cannot come before the League’s mission, not ever. Even if you have to cut those people down yourself to complete the mission, you do it without hesitation. Before, he could have, he’d _tried_. He threw his _whole being_ into his training, into the League’s goal, he believed in it, in Ra’s with all he was because he understood. The people around him were short lived and insignificant compared to the world and what it needed, being torn apart by all the wars, the greed, the suffering. The League stops evil people, they prevent disaster by assassinating the lives necessary, but now that Oliver’s been here, been-... _tied down_ by the weight of past connections, has _voluntarily_ let himself be, he can’t-

His fingers curl and he looks up at himself in the mirror, and makes a choice, has already made it.

He _won’t be that again_.

He takes a deep breath as the resolution sets in, the- decision. It... _hurts_ , like a deep, bruising, consuming _ache_ to turn his back on the League, on its mission, on Ra’s for a final time, on everything he believed in for so long, so completely, but there’s things _here_ that he believes in too, old things, _new_ things. Part of him is furious. How could he be so _selfish_ as to let himself put his own feelings ahead of something so much greater than himself? But the other part- how could he push those feelings aside as insignificant when the world without them-...is it really worth saving if whatever’s left would kill without hesitation, no matter who it was? If he would kill his sister, his mother, Shado, even Slade because someone deemed it necessary. Would _he_ deserve living, if that’s what he could even call it? It’s...hollow, he realizes, no matter the ache making his throat go tight. He would be a hollow tool, and nothing more, just like-...just like Sara told him he was before she left him here.

 _Is this who I am?_ Oliver thinks quietly, looking down at his hands again, then up in the mirror, brows drawn up together a little.

His fingers slowly curl into tight fists.

...He is someone who would slaughter people, any obstacle in his way, to protect his sister, to protect his mother, to protect- Slade, and Shado, even Smoak, Joe, Diggle, and Walter, even that boy Roy and the old woman from the vet clinic in the Glades. All these people that have touched his life, all these people who make him... _feel_ again. He would kill for them, he would kill to keep them safe, even if it meant-...turning his back on Ra’s and the League. He...would. He _will_.

 _Besides_ , he thinks, lowering his hands, he’s not fit to be what he was. He’s not...a tool anymore, not a sword Ra’s can swing-

He swallows a little.

-not an arrow Ra’s can fire. As much as a large part of him still _yearns_ for that, that feeling of _purpose_ , that...pride, a larger part can’t stand the thought of leaving his family again. It feels like weakness, feels like something to recoil from, but at the same time he can’t- _stop_ himself from grabbing onto it and holding tight, can’t- doesn’t _want_ to let go, not again.

He pauses when he realizes-

The thought of turning his back on them hurts... _worse_ than turning his back on the League. The memory of Thea screaming, _begging_ him, the one of Slade taking a bullet for him, of him nearly killing Joe. They’re worse, sharper. This must be part of why the League kills their ties, if left alone they become...

Oliver closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, breathes through the emotions in his chest for a few minutes, lets them writhe and storm and settle with his decision before taking a last breath and relaxing his shoulders back. He looks at himself in the mirror one more time, the resolution in his own eyes before turning and opening the bathroom door. He freezes when he finds Slade leaning against the frame with his arms crossed on the other side, an eyebrow rising a little as he takes Oliver in.

“Do you and your reflection need another minute? Or can I piss?” Slade asks, voice still sleep rough.

Oliver stares at him for a moment, thoughts snagging while they try to switch from everything he was just thinking about to what Slade just-

Oliver glares at him a little and steps aside while Slade snorts quietly and steps past him. Oliver walks back into the bedroom, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, half listening to Slade in the bathroom with the door open while he looks around the room, focusing on it instead of...everything else. He’s made his decision. It’s done.

Now that sun’s up a little higher and it’s brighter, he can see the room better. There’s an old tv across from the bed against the wall, a small table and two chairs next to the window by the door, an old, beat up dresser that’s probably empty in the far right corner next to what’s probably a tiny, also empty closet. The carpet is an ugly dark brown, the walls and ceiling an off-white, and the comforter over the sheets on the bed is some shiny, light teal monstrosity that looks like it belongs in the eighties.

He hears the toilet flush and then the sink for a minute, then the water shuts off and Slade’s steps approach. Oliver glances up.

Slade rounds the bed back to the other side and crouches down. Oliver hears his bag pulled across the floor out from under it and then Slade digging something out before tossing it across. Oliver catches it, blinking at the small toothpaste box and then catching the packaged toothbrush Slade tosses next.

“You had blood in your mouth, didn’t you,” Slade says, looking at him. Oliver’s cheeks warm a little while he grimaces. Slade huffs quietly and stands, taking a seat on the bed while Oliver gets back up and heads into the bathroom again, tearing both packages open and cleaning his teeth and mouth out. He spits in the sink and washes the toothbrush off before slipping it and the toothpaste back in their boxes and walking back into the room. He pauses to catch another something Slade tosses at him, staring at the hairbrush before looking over at Slade again, sitting back against the headboard, smirking. “I can brush it for you, if you want,” Slade teases gruffly.

Oliver glares at him half heartedly before setting the toothbrush and toothpaste packages on the bedside table and taking a seat on the edge of the bed, tearing the brush’s packaging open and pulling his hair over his shoulder. He grips it in a hand up near his ear and quickly starts working the brush through it from bottom to top, then tries to get the teeth through the rest of it. He winces a little as the brush catches and snags every so often, but after a minute, he finally manages to get it all and pulls the hair off the brush, pausing when Slade offers a small sandwich bag over. Oliver takes it, putting his hair in to dispose of later and sealing it up, setting the bag and brush on the nightstand.

He’s still a dead man, leaving traces of himself all over the place is ill advised.

They both sit in the quiet for a few minutes, Oliver’s eyelids lowering a little as it slowly soaks down into his bones. It’s still early, he can barely hear anyone awake past the room walls. Traffic this far out of the center of the city is minimal too. He does hear a couple cars at some point, but just the two.

Knuckles lightly brush his arm and his eyes jump over, head turning a little. Slade looks back, just watching him, gaze as steady and quiet as the room. Oliver’s heart beats a little harder in his chest and he drags his eyes away, trying to keep his damn cheeks from warming again. Slade makes him feel like a dumb teenager, sitting naked with his crush when he’s anything but, and Slade definitely isn’t either. He feels the bed shift and then fingers lightly tug at his hair. Oliver turns his head again as his eyes shift over and stills when he finds Slade’s face three inches from his. Slade’s brow rises a little as he smirks again, small but amused.

Oliver glares back half heartedly, heart beating a little faster. “Are you making fun of me?” he asks quietly.

“A little,” Slade answers, “It’s fun getting you riled up.”

Oliver huffs a breath, frowning at him. The longer they watch each other, the more Oliver becomes aware of the few inches between them, can feel the gravity of Slade drawing him in without even touching him. Oliver stays where he is, frown slowly fading. He swallows a little as the memories compound all over again, no longer buried by distraction. He’s made his decision, but what he-... _did_ is still there, what _might_ happen in the near future still circling his thoughts like vultures waiting to pick at him when he’s vulnerable, all of it pressing at his insides and making it harder to breathe.

He needs to check on Thea tonight, even if she hates him for what he did.

Slade’s expression sobers as he reaches up, cupping Oliver’s jaw. He doesn’t say anything, and it’s both better and worse. Oliver lets his eyes close, isn’t really surprised when Slade kisses him but part of him is, the part of him that wants to push Slade away, sucking in a breath through his nose when their lips meet. Slade leans closer, slowly makes the kiss firmer, stubble scratching, and Oliver’s insides just as slowly wind up tight, can feel himself tensing-

Slade presses just a little more and the tension _snaps_ , drops, Oliver deflating on a long sigh out through his nose and leaning into the kiss with it. Slade’s tongue brushes across the seam of his lips and Oliver opens his mouth, reaches up to grip Slade’s jaw as Slade’s tongue slips past. The kiss isn’t rough or intent like it usually is, isn’t dominating or searching, just- there, like the late night one at Diggle’s apartment, a comfort more than anything else.

Oliver’s brows draw up together a little and he leans into it more, even while the guilt and shame and worry keep a grip on him. They’re...lesser, compared to the kiss, to Slade’s hand on his jaw and thumb rubbing near the corner of his mouth, but somehow it also makes everything _worse_. Oliver leans closer, tilts his head to make it deeper and hears Slade sigh quietly through his nose, breath warm against Oliver’s upper lip.

“You think too much,” Slade says between kisses, then pulls back enough to look at him, “Always have.”

Oliver looks back, feels...helpless, a little, _enough_. He slides his hand down from Slade’s jaw to his shoulder, then down the length of Slade’s arm over smooth skin and small scars until he can grip the wrist of Slade’s hand on his jaw. “Make me stop,” Oliver says quietly, brows drawing together a little, feels _weak_ for saying it, _wants_ to say it. “Slade, make me _stop_ ,” he begs.

Slade’s brows lower a little, expression quiet as his mismatched eyes study him. Oliver watches him back, squeezes Slade’s wrist a little. Slade leans forward after a few moments and kisses him a little harder, deeper, and Oliver returns it, gradually leans into it as Slade’s tongue slips into his mouth again, sliding warm against his own. Slade shifts after a few minutes and then pulls away, and Oliver opens his eyes, watches Slade move further down the bed before grabbing one of his ankles and _pulling._ Oliver makes a faint sound in the back of his throat as his back hits the bed and his head hits a pillow, then watches Slade crawl up, kneel over him on his hands with his knees either side of Oliver’s hips.

“Are you sure?” Slade asks low, staring down at him.

Oliver’s cock starts to stir and he nods, swallowing a little before steeling himself and spreading his legs, as clear an answer as he can think to give without- saying something _stupid_. Slade’s brown eye darkens and he bends down, kisses him again before trailing his mouth down Oliver’s chin, his neck, nipping lightly, lips tracing the long length of scar down the side of it to his chest before stopping to suck on a nipple. Oliver sucks in a breath, arching up into the spike of pleasure while his eyes shut, one hand tangling in the sheets while the other tries to grip at Slade’s wild hair.

Slade doesn’t linger long, just long enough to make Oliver’s toes curl and him gasp from the drag of Slade’s teeth down his nipple before Slade keeps moving lower, dragging his lips and licking and sucking kisses down the length of his scarred stomach until Slade’s mouth finds the head of his cock, drawing his tongue up the slit before sucking at it. Oliver groans low, grips at the sheets with both hands while he pulls his knees up and lowers them to the bed, lifting his head a little to look down. Slade sucks the head of his cock into his mouth before tilting his head to look back up at him, then down again as he swirls his tongue around it. Oliver pants quietly as the pleasure shudders up the base of his spine, curls low in his gut, watching Slade shift a little. A finger slips between his cheeks to press and rub at his hole and Oliver’s head drops back to the pillow as he pants harder with a quiet groan, cock hardening further. Slade’s mouth pulls off after a few more moments and Oliver gets his eyes back open, looking down.

Slade moves and bends over the side of the bed, digging something out of his bag before coming back up and dropping them on the sheets. Oliver spots the condom first, cock giving a faint twitch, then the bottle of lube.

He tried- looking into it, how men have sex with each other in his downtime, when he was alone, and he thinks he gets the gist of it. But...watching porn and reading information are different from actually _doing_ it.

Slade looks up at him as he kneels back between Oliver’s thighs and Oliver looks back, breathing quickened. He swallows a little. Slade reaches over and pops the cap on the lube, loud in the morning quiet, squirting some out onto his fingers while watching him before propping the bottle against the sheets and reaching down, taking hold of Oliver’s cock in his dry hand and reaching forward with his wet one-

Oliver _twitches_ a little at the feeling of a cool, slick finger rubbing at his hole, but then Slade bends down and takes his cock into his mouth again and Oliver’s eyes shut firmly as he moans, head pushing back into the pillow. Slade’s finger doesn’t push inside, just rubs slowly back and forth between his cheeks, drags up to beneath his balls and _presses_ and Oliver twitches again as he moans sharper, tightening his grip on the sheets. Slade’s finger slides back down to press a little at his entrance, circles it while tonguing his slit and Oliver pants, shuddering a little while his toes curl. Slade presses a little more while sucking beneath the head and Oliver finally remembers to take a breath through the arousal and pleasure fogging his head, holding it before letting it out slow and forcing his body to _relax_. Slade’s finger circles him again before _pressing_ a little _more_ -

And then the tip slips inside to the first knuckle and Oliver sucks in a breath, groaning at the feeling and Slade’s mouth pulling off. Slade’s hand lets go of his cock and Oliver jumps a little when he feels something cool squirt onto it, getting his eyes open to look down. Slade’s calloused hand goes back to it, stroking slow and gliding smooth as he coats the lube down the length. Oliver moans, eyes dragging up to find Slade’s still on him, watching his face. Oliver’s cheeks heat and then his eyes shut as his head pushes back as Slade’s finger slowly works deeper inside him, thrusting slowly in time with the hand on him. Oliver draws his knees up to brace his feet on the bed and arches his back, angling his hips to rock down onto Slade’s finger and then up into the hand on his cock, cheeks heating further. He hears Slade growl low and quiet, the hand on his cock squeezing a bit and Oliver shudders with another moan, heart beating harder. He squeezes his eyes shut as he grips the sheets tight, pleasure building hot at the base of his spine, coiling tight below his gut as he keeps rocking his hips. _He’s going to_ -

“Come,” Slade orders low and steady, voice a little rough, and Oliver sucks in a breath as he _does_ , back arching sharper and warmth hitting his stomach while he clenches down on Slade’s finger. Slade strokes him through the orgasm, finger unmoving inside him, and Oliver moans long and low through the waves of pleasure, thoughts a heavy haze. Slade waits until he’s dropped loose to the bed before he nudges with and starts working in two fingers, working them both in slow as Oliver pants at the stretch. Slade’s hand on his cock slows to a stop, letting go to hold his hip and Oliver keeps panting, brows tangled up. His grip slowly loosens on the sheets but his fingers curl and uncurl at the- feeling of Slade’s _fingers_ inside. It’s more than the one, feels fuller, _thicker_ , stretches _more_.

Oliver swallows, taking another breath and letting it out slow and shuddery to try and keep his body relaxed. “ _Slade_ ,” he breathes between pants, dragging his heavy eyelids open to look up at him through the haze. Slade looks back, drops his eyes to watch his fingers for a minute and Oliver’s cheeks go hot, becomes acutely aware of them moving _in_ him, slow and patient, and swallows again. He clenches around them briefly and Slade’s eyes dart back up to him, gaze dark and heavy. Oliver’s cock gives a twitch and Slade squeezes his hip, still slowly thrusting his fingers further inside until his knuckles finally brush Oliver’s ass. They _curl_ and rub that _spot_ ( _prostate,_ his mind supplies) inside and Oliver’s head shoves back as his eyes slam shut on a sharp, loud moan, gripping the sheets tight as his back arches, trying to arc his hips down into the feeling. Slade keeps _rubbing_ and Oliver groans hard, is vaguely aware of his cock leaking on his stomach.

“ _Slade!_ ” he moans, pants as the _lightning_ arcs up his spine, throughout- _all of him_. It’s a deeper pleasure than stroking his cock, goes- _everywhere, **more**_.

Slade grips his hip bruisingly tight before he lets up with his fingers, stops rubbing and Oliver’s back drops like his strings are cut as he pants heavily, curling his fingers tight in the sheets before relaxing them a little. Slade’s fingers- _spread_ , for lack of a better word, and Oliver sucks in a breath at the- _stretched_ feeling. It’s so- _different_ from anything he’s felt, doesn’t really have a word for it, but they keep doing it, every time Slade’s fingers pull back until Oliver feels a- _third_ start to press in and groans low and rough. Slade’s grip disappears from his hip and then Oliver feels cool lube slide down between his cheeks, on his overheated skin, flushing heavily when he feels it meet Slade’s fingers still trying to slowly work inside. Oliver makes himself take another long, slow breath, holds it for ten torturous seconds before letting it out slow, relaxing-

Slade’s three fingers slowly press further in and Oliver sucks in a sharper breath, over- _overwhelmed_ at the _stretch_ of it. They start rocking, just a little bit further in at a time and then Slade’s other hand is back on his cock, stroking him back to halfway hard in a slow, steady counterpoint.

Oliver can’t- _think_ , can’t think in words, all he can think is- _feeling_. Slade’s fingers slowly, steadily thrusting inside, stretching him open, Slade’s warm, calloused palm on his cock sliding against his sensitive skin, the arousal still thrumming low at the base of his spine from when they started, through the orgasm he’s already had as the pleasure starts to build again. He pants heavily, feels _warm-hot_ all over, exposed and- _open_ in ways he’s not- he’s _never_ \- But he _**wants**_ it. God, he wants it so badly he can’t _think straight_.

Slade’s knuckles eventually brush his ass again and then his fingers _spread_ as they pull out slow and Oliver groans heavily, all his senses focused on- that feeling and the slick slide of Slade’s hand on him. He’s going to- _Again_ -

Slade lets go of his cock and Oliver nearly whines, might make a sound in the back of his throat as his orgasm is put off but can’t be sure. He pants as he slowly comes back down from the edge while Slade’s hand grips under his thigh and pushes his leg _up_ , opens him up _more._ Oliver _does_ make a sound in the back of his throat at that, isn’t sure what it is but grips the sheets tight as his flush spreads down his neck to his chest. Slade’s fingers steadily rock inside him, keep spreading on the way out and Oliver finds his hips starting to rock into it again, meet Slade’s fingers every time they thrust in, knuckles meeting his ass-

Slade growls again quietly and they pull out, and Oliver’s left feeling so- _**empty**_ , eyes dragging open as he looks down. Slade’s eyes never leave him as he reaches over for the condom, tears it open roughly and slides it on before shuffling forward, kneeling up close. Slade squirts lube down the length of himself, already hard by the looks of it, before closing the bottle and dropping it aside, stroking a hand down his cock with a rough, low groan before guiding it forward, gripping Oliver’s hip tight in his other hand.

Oliver stills and sucks in a breath when he feels the head of Slade’s cock press to his entrance, clenching. Slade watches him, panting a little, and rubs a slick thumb over his hip.

“Ready?” Slade asks, quiet and rough.

Oliver swallows around his quiet panting, manages to focus his thoughts enough through the haze to process the question before nodding, gripping the sheets tighter. He makes himself take another breath and let it out slow, keeping himself relaxed even as Slade’s _cock_ starts pressing _inside_ -

Oliver pulls in a shuddery breath, clenches his jaw a little in an effort to keep himself relaxed- Slade stops, barely an inch in, and Oliver pants, dragging his eyes open from where they fell shut. He looks down the length of himself, then up, watches Slade bend down over him and brace a hand on the bed near his shoulder, next to his hair. Slade’s knees slowly spread across the sheets beneath his thighs and spread his legs open further with them, making Oliver’s cheeks hot. Slade bends down, kisses him as much as he can around both of them panting and Oliver pushes his head up into it, lets go of the sheets to reach up and grab at Slade’s shoulder, the side of his neck. Slade starts rocking slowly, just a tiny bit further inside each time and Oliver _groans_ , panting between kisses, gripping onto Slade tight. It _feels- It’s_ -

Slade keeps rocking his hips, slow, patient, slowly filling him up even though Oliver can _feel_ how hard he is, feel and hear Slade’s breaths panting against his open mouth. Oliver’s not sure how long it takes, how long he gets lost in the slow stretch of Slade’s- Slade’s _cock_ in him, pressing in a little further and _further_ and stretching him open even wider than Slade’s fingers did, so- It’s so- _much_ , almost _**too much**_ \- Oliver can _feel_ it, feels the pressure of it in his lungs, his _throat_ , which doesn’t make _sense_ , but it’s-

Slade’s hips finally press to his ass and they both freeze, Oliver blowing out a harsh breath through his mouth. He feels Slade’s breaths pant hot next to his chin while he tries to- _breathe_ through it, feels like Slade’s cock is nearly up the back of his throat he’s so- _he feels so_ - _ ** full of him**_.

“ _S-Slade_ ,” Oliver manages, voice strained, holding onto him bruisingly tight.

“ _Oliver_ ,” Slade groans back rough and low, pressing lips to the underside of his jaw, stubble scratching. Oliver shudders a little at the feel of it, at the sound of Slade saying his name that way, panting. “Does it hurt?” Slade asks after a moment, low and quiet.

“ _Almost_ ,” Oliver gets out, voice still strained, almost a groan, just trying to _breathe_ through the- _**full**_ feeling. It _does_ almost hurt, is borderline painful, but doesn’t quite reach it. He’s not sure how much of that is the mirakuru, his pain tolerance, and Slade’s earlier preparation. Mostly it’s just- _different_ , strange, _new_.

More panting kisses press to the underside of his jaw, down his neck, Slade’s lips following the scar down and across his collarbone to his chest. Slade’s tongue drags across his nipple and Oliver clenches tight, blunt nails digging into Slade’s skin on something near a shout as his back bows a bit, the pleasure paired with- _everything_ almost _**too much** , too soon_. He hears Slade growl out a rough groan against his chest and feels an aborted jerk of Slade’s hips against his ass, making Oliver suck in a sharp breath as he shudders hard. They both still and just- stay there for a few minutes, Oliver trying to- _adjust_ to it all while Slade gets better control of himself.

After a little while, _restlessness_ starts settling into him, _want, **need**_ , and Oliver finally drags his eyes open and looks up. Slade’s are eyes shut, brows drawn low together in concentration.They open after a few moments and they stare at one another, Oliver’s heart beating harder and faster in his chest.

“Slade,” he manages, “I _want_ -...” _**needs**_ -

Slade slowly lowers down the rest of the way over him, presses him into the bed with his warm weight and Oliver makes a sound in the back of his throat as it shifts Slade’s cock inside him, muffles it further when Slade’s mouth presses hard to his, kissing him slow and firm and _deep_. Oliver slides a hand up into Slade’s hair and grips it, shudders at the low growl it gets him, reverberating through his chest where they’re pressed flush together. Slade rocks his hips a little, experimentally, grinds _forward_ and it sends _pain-pleasure_ tingles all up Oliver’s spine and makes him gasp, breaking the kiss, toes curling against the sheets.

“ _Slade_ ,” Oliver moans quietly, roughly, mostly breath, and Slade’s mouth drags down, sucks and bites kisses down the length of his jaw while Oliver tilts his head back, to the side, lost in the feeling of- _all of it_. There’s _so much, all over_.

“You keep saying my name like that,” Slade says low and rough near his ear between his own panting breaths.

Oliver shudders a little. “Like what?” he manages to pant back.

Slade doesn’t answer him. His hips rock a little again, just a little, but it’s so _deep, it’s_ \- Oliver groans low, dragging blunt nails down and around Slade’s shoulder to his back. Slade growls roughly near his ear and thrusts again, just as shallow and deep, then starts up a slow, steady rhythm of it, hips rolling against Oliver’s ass and knocking the thoughts of his head. Oliver pants, grips at Slade’s hair and back tighter while he gets lost in the smooth roll of Slade’s hips, the feeling of his cock sliding slick and _deep_ inside, so unlike anything he’s ever- Oliver’s cheeks flush and his body’s hot where they’re pressed together all along their fronts, like a furnace, pleasure slowly building at the base of his spine as his cock rubs between them, still slick from his cum and precum and the lube.

His body slowly adjusts to the intrusion, the _borderline-pain_ fading until all that’s left is the _pleasure_ , the mind numbing, deep _slide_ of Slade _in him_. A hand grips his jaw and Oliver drags his heavy eyelids open halfway, stares hazily up at Slade as Slade stares down at him, their breaths panting hot against their open mouths. Neither of them say anything, but Oliver grips onto Slade tighter as he moans low and rough, can’t help doing it on every thrust of Slade’s hips when they pick up the pace a little, tries to pull Slade _closer_ as Slade’s body rocks against his. Slade’s dark eye is nearly black, liquid heat that sends a shudder down Oliver’s spine, makes the pleasure tingle more throughout his body and his chest just as warm and hot, _tight_. Slade’s mouth finds his and Oliver closes his eyes as he groans deep into the kiss while panting through his nose.

And then Slade changes the angle of his hips after a minute and hits his prostate again and Oliver has to pull his head back, pressing it back into the pillow with a shout _, shuddering_ hard as the pleasure _spikes_ and _floods_ up the base of his spine, behind his eyelids, clouds his head, builds quicker, _faster, **harder**_ \- matching the pace of Slade’s hips-

Oliver moans his name, the only word he can manage to think, get out. Slade thrusts harder, _deeper_ , keeps hitting that spot with a rough growl over and _over_ until the pleasure crests and Oliver comes _hard_ with another _shout_ , _stars_ and _white_ flooding behind his eyelids as his back bows, body arching up into Slade’s. He jerks his head forward after a few seconds and digs his teeth into Slade’s shoulder to try and muffle the rest of his shout, clenching down hard around Slade’s cock still thrusting in him. He vaguely hears Slade groan sharp and rough, feels Slade’s hips snap hard and shallow against his ass, can _hear_ it, pick up the pace even more until Slade goes _still_ and _shudders_ against him with a louder groan, muffled where his mouth presses against Oliver’s throat. Slade’s hips start rocking again after a few moments, still shallow and deep, thrusting them both through it. Oliver shudders _hard_ as Slade hits his prostate again, cock leaking even while it’s _cold-hot all over_ and _too **much**_ -

He moans again, high and strained and muffled against Slade’s shoulder on each thrust until another orgasm is forced out of him barely five seconds later, digging his blunt nails into Slade’s lower back and gripping his hair tight as he _shudders_ hard through it. He jerks a little beneath Slade with the force of it, against him as he clenches down again and Slade’s hips keep snapping until Slade growls out a sharp, gravelly groan against his neck and stills again, panting heavily into his skin. Oliver stays curled tight around him, body tense as he shakes and shudders through the overwhelming cascade of _white-hot_.

It takes a couple minutes before his body finally starts to go loose, collapsing back onto the bed and panting heavily, chest heaving. Slade’s weight drops onto him fully and presses him further into the bed but Oliver can’t find the effort to mind, just trying to catch his breath and get his thoughts- _back_ from the empty, washed out ocean in his head.

They lay there for five minutes, ten, breathing gradually slowing back down to resting as Oliver’s grip slowly loosens on Slade. Eventually, he manages to drag his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling around the side of Slade’s shaved black hair as he pants faintly, blinking a little slowly. He’s exhausted already. He was exhausted last night, it made it easier to sleep on a bed, and he was fine earlier, but now he’s just exhausted all over again, in a better, _bone deep_ way he hasn’t- felt before, not quite like this, not so thoroughly.

Slade shifts after a minute, pushes himself up on his forearms and looks down at him, a light sweat on his brow. They just watch each other for a minute, and Slade’s gaze goes... _warm_ around the edges. Heat spreads throughout Oliver’s chest and Slade bends down and kisses him through it, Oliver’s eyes falling shut and brows angling up a little as he leans up into it, slides his hand from Slade’s hair down the back of his neck and grips it. Slade shudders faintly under his palm and kisses him deeper, slow and thorough. After a couple minutes, Slade pulls back and looks at him again, that same heat in his gaze that’s been there since-

Oliver swallows, makes himself stare back up instead of look away this time as that same liquid heat unfurls and _spreads_ throughout his whole body like the sunlight that’s lighting up the room, makes him shudder. He grips onto Slade a little tighter.

He’s been aware of it this whole time. He just- didn’t _want_ to be. If he was, it meant- it made things different, made everything real in a way he couldn’t shut off, couldn’t focus past, couldn’t ignore, _can’t_. It opened doors he’d wanted to stay shut, thought were sealed for good since the island, but-...

One of Slade’s hands shifts up and fingers slide into the side of his hair, a thumb stroking below the corner of his eye. Oliver closes them, sucking in a breath when Slade shifts up and presses lips to his forehead so- _tenderly_. Oliver grips onto him tighter and Slade’s lips shift down, press to his again. Oliver tilts his head up into it even while his eyes sting, throat going tight with how- _unbearable it is_. It’s so-

 _I love you_ , he thinks, quiet and clear in the silence of his head.

Oliver stills. The realization drops like a stone into the ocean, so small and clear but unfathomably _heavy_ , weighing him down, makes him tremble faintly while he holds onto Slade tighter. Slade pulls back enough to look at him, stilling in Oliver’s blurring vision.

 _ **I love you**_ , he thinks again, brows slowly drawing together as the... _anger_ builds, the _sorrow_ \- His chest is so warm, so unbearably _hot_ even while it feels like he’s going to _break_ , cracks running deep down through him. The tears slip down from the corners of his eyes and Slade’s thumb rubs some away. Oliver squeezes his eyes shut while he clenches his jaw, grits his teeth. He pushes up after a minute and Slade lets him roll them, Slade’s cock sliding out of him with it. Oliver sucks in a breath at the feeling but focuses on Slade, looking down at him blurrily while his hair curtains either side of them, dimming the sunlight filtering into the room. Slade stares back up, brows drawn lower together and jaw hard, gaze still warm but intent, resolute.

Oliver swallows, hands braced either side of Slade’s head. “Why are you here?” he asks again quietly, almost a whisper, voice hoarse.

_Why are you still here?_

Slade stares up at him, reaching up after a moment to rub a thumb across his cheek, clearing some of the tears away. A couple more slip out, slide down Oliver’s chin to drop to the side of Slade’s. “Because…” Slade trails off, eye going distant in thought before his gaze focuses again, watching him. “The first time we met, I was going to kill you,” he says, making Oliver pause a little, watching him back, “I’d been on Lian Yu for a year, tortured, betrayed, angry, and then this- _dumb kid_ came into my base, inexperienced and useless until he dislocated his thumb and punched me.” Slade’s lips twitch faintly, briefly while Oliver keeps watching him, chest aching. Slade’s expression goes serious again. “The first thing you said took me by surprise, and then for the first time in a year in that place, I laughed. You refused to leave Yao Fei behind. You-” Slade huffs, still staring up at him. “This dumb kid who couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag taught me that _not_ everyone is out for themselves, and made me feel for the first time in over a year like I was doing more than surviving on a godforsaken island.”

Oliver swallows, more tears slipping down his cheeks as his brows draw up together a little, fingers curling in the sheets. Slade holds his cheek, thumb rubbing into the path of his tears again and gaze as liquid-hot as the unbearable heat in Oliver’s chest, not- _soft_ , but- _open_ in ways Slade rarely is.

“I went back to surviving, after you and Shado were gone,” Slade continues a little quieter, voice a little rougher. Oliver swallows again, staring down at him, and Slade keeps holding his cheek. “Was barely even doing that after I got back, and then you were here.” Slade pauses, brows drawing together a little as they watch each other. “Joe said something that made me realize, since you came back, I’ve gone from _surviving_ to _living_ again. You make me _want_ to live, not just survive.”

More tears slip past as Oliver’s chest squeezes and his vision goes too blurry to see Slade again. He blinks a few times and the warmth slides down his cheeks, vision clearing enough to see Slade still watching him. The hand on his cheek grips him firmly. “I want you to _live_ , Oliver,” Slade says, quiet and as firm as his grip. Oliver’s chest squeezes _tight_ , heart beating harder as his vision blurs again. “Not be some pawn, some tool, some survivor. I want you to _live_ ,” Slade repeats, voice hard.

Oliver clenches his jaw, tries to fight it but his expression crumples as he struggles to breathe through the _heat_ and _pressure_ in his chest, his closing throat. They push at his insides, the back of his tongue and he opens his mouth-

“ _I love you_ ,” he blurts, slamming his jaw shut after, can’t see Slade’s expression clearly through the tears but feels his grip on his cheek go _hard_. “ _ **I love you**_ ,” Oliver repeats past his closed throat, voice strained and shaky, _angry_. The hand on his cheek pulls him down and Slade kisses him _hard_ , other arm wrapping around his back and pressing them tight together, front to front. Slade keeps kissing him and Oliver tries to return it, but he’s breathing too raggedly to do it properly as the emotions rage in his chest.

 _ **I love you**_ , he thinks again, brows drawn together, so- _**angry**_ at himself for letting it happen, for giving in, even while the tears build and spill over again. His chest is _too warm_ , it’s _too much_ , it’s _**too**_ -

Slade pulls back a little and mutters, “Me too,” between them, low and quiet and a little hoarse. Oliver freezes, then grips onto him tight, _desperate_ , kisses him again just as desperately as his grip, breathing ragged.

“Everyone I love always-” Oliver starts, heart beating hard in his chest, his ears.

“ _I’m not going anywhere_ ,” Slade cuts him off firmly, pushing at his jaw enough for Oliver to lift his head, blinking the tears out of his eyes. Slade’s are red rimmed and- open, unguarded and hard, as resolute as earlier. It pierces through Oliver and makes his heart _ache_ , it’s _**too much**_ , holding onto Slade bruisingly tight. Oliver _wants_ to believe him, _**wants** to_\- “I promise,” Slade says quietly, cutting off his thoughts, wiping more of his tears away. Oliver’s expression crumbles again and he leans down to press their foreheads together, can’t stop the tears or the shaking, feels so _weak_ and _**warm**_. He curves towards Slade and Slade just- holds him, presses lips to the corner of his mouth and whispers firmly, “ _I promise_.”

\-----

Lance stares at the Murder Board, as they’ve taken to calling it, elbow resting on his desk chair’s armrest and a few fingers against his mouth. He slants his eyes from the Bertinelli photos to the Triads, then back to the Thea Queen tidbits, the start of all this. The two involving Thea Queen were done by the other one, Ghost, but the Bertinelli was done by both, and the Triads by Oliver Queen. The Triads had nothing to do with Thea Queen, but they _were_ the ones that set the trap for Oliver that the police moved in on, that lead to Lance shooting Ghost, who seems to be following both Queens around.

 _Is that it?_ he wonders, slanting his eyes between the information and photos again while he thinks, brows furrowed.

Whoever ‘Ghost’ is, he’s tied to the Queens, both siblings, which means probably Moira Queen as well, though Steele is an unknown. And whoever he is, Oliver Queen cared enough that he got shot to massacre the Triads ultimately responsible. But Queen and Ghost aren’t the same, that much is obvious. Their methods are different, their ages. Queen is efficiently brutal while Ghost has been more of an intimidator and user of blunt force. They both use swords like some medieval marauders, but even those were different, Ghost’s custom and Queen’s having changed twice.

Lance turns to his computer, pulling up the report on Ghost’s swords.

They’re definitely custom, according the experts they consulted, but no one knows _where_ they’re from. They tried running the blood found in the alley and on the top of Lance’s car too, but nothing turned up, which leaves them with next to nothing on Ghost. But Queen, on the other hand…

Lance looks back to the board again, brows drawing low together.

He’s got Queen’s blood tested and confirmed, he just needs proof that Queen is still alive to convict him. But on the other side of that...if he does, he might not ever get answers about-... _Sara_. Queen _has_ to know something, he has to, might be the only one who _does_ , much as Lance hates to admit it. He just needs to _find him again_ , but it’s been quiet since the quake, for _both_ vigilantes.

Then there’s the super strength. Even if Lance did manage to arrest Queen, that’s no guarantee that Queen would stay that way, even if Lance got the S.W.A.T. involved. A.R.G.U.S. might be an option, but he’s hesitant to bring them in, especially without getting his own answers out of Queen first. A.R.G.U.S. might not give him the chance to. Does _Ghost_ have super strength as well? He seemed to take a bullet just fine.

Lance blows out a sigh, resting his mouth against his fingers again as he slants his eyes back to the Thea Queen incidents.

If she knows about her brother being alive, that would at least explain her behavior. He _might_ be able to work that angle.

He grabs his cane from where it’s propped against his desk and pushes himself up out of his chair with a grunt, looking over when Lucas gets up too.

“I know that look,” Lucas says, grabbing his keys and dangling them, “And you’re not driving on that foot.”

Lance grunts again and tries to maneuver himself out of the bullpen, Lucas leading the way out.

\-----

Oliver wakes slowly again, isn’t sure when he fell asleep or for how long, but when he cracks his eyes open he finds his face buried in the side of Slade’s neck, Slade’s earthy scent in his nose and ribcage slowly rising and falling beneath him. Oliver can see some of the light in the room around the dark space he’s hidden in, dimmed through the curtains but brighter than earlier. His thoughts are quiet and slow for a few minutes, then-

 _I love him_ , he thinks quietly, the thought surfacing through placid water like a dorsal fin. He isn’t sure if it’s a dolphin or a shark, but it feels like it has teeth. It feels so... _ **heavy**_ , heavier than a lot of things, inescapable, terrible and simultaneously not. He feels...helpless, in a different way from earlier, from last night. It makes him angry, frustrated, and-...sad. Everyone he loves, they always leave him, in some way or another. No matter what Slade promised, it doesn’t feel like it’s...going to last.

The backs of Oliver’s eyes sting and he shuts them firmly, swallowing. A hand brushes over his hair, down his shoulder and he jolts faintly, sucking in a breath. He lifts his head after a moment and looks over.

Slade stares back, the look in his eye quieter but still intent, warm, that same dangerous warmth spreading throughout Oliver’s chest all over again. He lowers his head back down, resting his cheek on Slade’s collarbone and staring across the room at the wall.

Acknowledging what he’s been feeling for weeks doesn’t change anything, but at the same time-...it changes _everything_. It feels like the most insignificant, yet most significant thing, and different from when he loved Laurel. With Laurel it was terrifying in the ways of a child: daunting, _huge_ , feared. With Slade it’s…

“ _Me too.”_

 _“I’m not going anywhere. I promise_.”

Oliver closes his eyes firmly, lets himself be a coward and hides just a little longer.

It’s still daunting and terrifying, but he doesn’t want to run from it this time, wants to hold on more than he wants to push it away, no matter what-...might happen. It’s too late to push Slade away, which just makes his chest and throat go tighter.

It’s quiet. Slade’s warm hand stays on his arm, calloused thumb rubbing over his skin while Oliver tries to deal with the emotions in his chest. After a little while, he pushes himself up on a hand and makes himself look down at Slade, really look at him. Slade steadily watches him back, arm still around his waist, and that warmth just spreads out further from Oliver’s chest, like sunlight, like lava, _warm, too warm._ Oliver’s mouth opens- closes, and Slade beats him to it:

“It’s not complicated,” Slade says, low and quiet.

Oliver swallows, brows drawing together a little. “Are you-” Slade pulls him down by the back of his neck before he can finish and slots their mouths together, muffling his words. Oliver’s eyes shut and he resists for a few seconds before dropping into it and returning the kiss, reaching up and holding the side of Slade’s face. Slade’s tongue finds his and Oliver blows out a breath through his nose, can’t help his cock taking an interest out of habit even through the turmoil in his chest. He feels the arm on his back move, Slade’s hand slide down and grip his ass, making him suck in a breath. Fingers slip between his cheeks and then two curl and press inside, making Oliver pull his head back on a gasp.

“There’s nothing complicated about this,” Slade says, watching him. Oliver’s cheeks heat while he pants faintly, looking back, Slade’s fingers thrusting a little inside him. “There’s nothing complicated about this, either,” Slade adds quieter, leaning his head up to kiss him again. Oliver’s eyes slide shut as he moans quietly, spreads his legs to straddle Slade’s lap. Slade’s fingers thrust in deeper, make his toes curl at the stretch, the slide. He’s not- sore, but that empty feeling was starting to creep back in the more aware he was becoming. Now-

Slade’s fingers pull out and Oliver breaks the kiss again, sucking in another breath as he groans quietly, not quite a whine, but closer to one than he’d like. Slade’s mouth moves down his chin to his neck, sucking and biting kisses into his skin.

“But-” Oliver tries to get out, panting quietly as Slade adds a third finger as they press back in, stretching him back open again. His cock hardens further and Oliver tries to keep his hips from rocking either way. “The League-” he struggles to get out, “The League will-”

“ _We’ll deal with it_ ,” Slade grunts back between nips to his skin, working his fingers back into him far easier than earlier, though the stretch is still- _new_.

“What if-” Oliver starts.

Slade _growls_ quietly and pulls his fingers out, Oliver sucking in a breath as Slade looks up at him, brows lowered. “There’s no point thinking ‘what if’. We’ll deal with it, one way or another.”

Oliver stills, fingers tightening on the side of Slade’s neck, his shoulder while he pants quietly. “I don’t-” he cuts himself off, swallowing as his brows lower, draw together. _I don’t want to lose you_ , he thinks.

Slade reaches up with his other hand, gripping his cheek, then sliding it down to his jaw. “What I do is not up to you. I told you before,” Slade says low and firm, eye hard, “I’ve made my choice. What is yours?”

Oliver stills, staring at him.

It’s too late to push him away, Slade won’t leave him alone even if he tried, and Oliver’s- already made his decision. He’s not putting the League first, he’s staying here, will try to protect Slade, Shado, Thea, his mother and the others, even if that means killing members of the League. Pushing them away won’t- it won’t keep them safe when the League comes, it can’t. The League might even...know about them already. The best way to keep them safe might be to keep them close, where he can watch them, know if anything happens and respond accordingly. And with Slade…

Oliver lowers his head a little, slides his hand up to grip Slade’s jaw in return, lips flattening as his chest squeezes while they watch each other.

The thought of leaving Slade now is about as painful as the thought of staying with him, of feeling- _everything_ Slade makes him feel, amplified by the poison in both their veins. Slade’s older, tempered in ways that Oliver still isn’t, even with his League training and everything that happened, it might be helping Slade keep tighter control of himself, but Oliver is...

 _I’m unstable_ , he thinks, searching Slade’s mismatched eyes, remembers Thea trembling in the chair, staring at him like she didn’t recognize him, the A.R.G.U.S. building. He’s dangerous, and the only one who can do anything about him if he loses it is Slade. If something happens to Slade, Oliver might-...not be able to stop, but it’s more dangerous if something happens and they’re apart, isn’t it?

“You’re thinking too much again,” Slade grunts, drawing him out of his thoughts. Oliver blows out a slow breath and looks to the side, brows drawn together. Fingers rub over his entrance and he pulls in a breath, shuddering a little as his eyes fall shut. “Stop _thinking_ ,” Slade orders, calloused fingers rubbing firmly. “What do you _feel?_ What do you _want?_ ”

“ _You_ ,” Oliver breathes, immediately clenches his jaw shut after and tightens his grip on Slade at the admission. He gets his eyes open and drops his forehead to Slade’s, staring down at him up close while he pants quietly. “I want-...I want _you_ , but-”

“You have me,” Slade cuts him off simply, fingers stopping. Oliver bites the inside of his cheek, fingers curling a little over Slade’s warm skin.

“You make it sound easy,” Oliver says quietly after a minute.

Slade huffs, glaring up at him a little. “It is. You’re making it hard. As usual.”

Oliver frowns and Slade raises a brow back, Oliver can feel it against his forehead. Slade tilts his head up, doesn’t kiss him, but Oliver can practically feel Slade’s lips just shy of his own, feel his hot breath against his mouth. Oliver watches him for another few moments, _aching_ to close the distance, before closing his eyes and- _choosing_ , tilting his head down and closing the scant space between them. They kiss for a minute, slow and firm, and then a hand slides down around his ass to his thigh, gripping the underside.

“I want to fuck you,” Slade says low and rough against his mouth. Oliver’s cock gives a twitch between them and Slade grips his thigh harder, can feel it. Oliver shifts and slowly pushes himself up, Slade’s eye following him as he reaches back, taking hold of- Slade’s cock.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Slade asks, one hand sliding around to grip his hip while the other stays on his thigh. Oliver glances around, finds the lube and lets go of Slade’s cock long enough to grab it and pop the cap open, shifting up onto his knees. He pours some on Slade’s cock and then closes the bottle, dropping it near the condom wrapper.

“I took the condom off,” Slade says.

Oliver pauses, swallowing a little at the thought of- “Do we need it?” he asks.

Slade’s brows draw together a little in thought. “With the mirakuru? Probably not.”

“I haven’t been with anyone in five years,” Oliver says, “And never like this.”

“I haven’t been with anyone in just as long,” Slade replies.

Oliver reaches down, strokes the lube over Slade’s cock, _feels_ it start to harden in his hand and sits up a little more, brows drawing together in concentration as he moves his other hand behind him to grip Slade’s cock better, lowering a little and guiding the head to his entrance, taking a breath to try and _relax_. He keeps watching Slade as he slowly lowers and the head _presses_ against him, making his breath catch. Slade watches him, gripping his hip and thigh a little tighter, brown eye dark and Oliver closes his own, cheeks warm, can’t stand it. He feels one of Slade’s hands slide around and fingers rub slow above where his cock is pressing and Oliver groans quietly, his own cock hardening as he lowers further-

It’s- tight, but the head slowly, finally presses inside and Oliver lets out a rush of breath when it does, shuddering a little.

“Helps if you rock,” Slade says after a minute, voice rougher and a little strained. Oliver gets his eyes open and looks back down at him, finds Slade’s eye dark and intent on him and swallows a little, lifting up a bit before slowly rocking back down, a little more of Slade’s cock pressing inside with it. Oliver repeats it, takes a longer breath and lets it out slow to help keep himself relaxed while Slade’s thumb rubs over his hip. “Like that,” Slade says low, almost a growl. Oliver can _feel_ him hardening inside and it’s- strange, that and the lack of condom, Slade’s skin- warmer, not quite as smooth as the latex, but it makes the arousal slowly fog his head as Slade’s cock slowly fills him back up, gets rid of that _empty_ feeling and makes him- _**want** _ all over again.

“Slade,” Oliver breathes, keeps rocking a little bit at a time, watching Slade watch him until his ass finally comes to rest on Slade’s lap and he stops, panting quietly, swallowing a little at the _full_ feeling. Slade’s so- _deep_ inside. Slade’s other hand slides up to his hip, both thumbs rubbing firmly while they watch each other, Slade’s breathing picked up. He’s halfway hard inside, Oliver can- feel it. It doesn’t hurt as much as the first time now that the _borderline-pain_ isn’t a surprise, but it’s still _tight_.

He sits still for a few minutes, just trying to adjust to it all over again, cheeks warm with Slade’s gaze on him.

“Do you know how to move?” Slade eventually asks quietly, watching him, still, always. Oliver’s cheeks heat further while he thinks over the question, then lifts his hips a little, slowly, experimentally, just as slowly lowering back down and letting out a slow breath at the- feel of the _slide_. Slade nods a little, then gives his hip a nudge. “Can I?” he asks. Oliver nods and Slade- _moves_ his hips, rolls them like- almost like the hula hoops Oliver used to play with as a kid. He _shudders_ at the feel of Slade’s cock shifting inside him with it and tries following, eyes dropping closed and cheeks hot. He pants quietly, sucking in a sharp breath with a little jerk when Slade’s cock rubs across his prostate. Slade’s hands shift direction, make his hips move back and forth and Oliver moans low, following the movement after a moment.

“Like that,” Slade says, low, rough, breathy. Oliver tries circling his hips again and then Slade lifts them an inch before pushing them back down and Oliver groans, head dropping back at the feel of- _all of it_. Slade does it again and Oliver picks up the rhythm, starts doing it on his own. Something about the rhythmic slide of Slade’s cock inside him shuts his thoughts off, makes his head hazy and warm, the rhythm of it paired with the _feeling_.

“ _Slade_ ,” he moans again, quiet and breathy, drags his eyes open halfway to look down at him as he rocks his hips.

Slade watches Oliver, watches the way he rocks, the slow way his hips roll, starts feeling them move more confidently in his hands and slowly slides one up Oliver’s side over the scarring while he tries to keep his own hips still, panting quietly. He slides his hand over to below Oliver’s chest and then slowly drags his blunt nails down, pauses to rub his thumb across two of the scars Billy left and feels Oliver shudder faintly beneath his hand. He keeps dragging his nails down, over the muscles of Oliver’s stomach down to his cock. Oliver shudders harder and his head lowers forward a little, wispy strands of his hair slipping over his shoulder and the green of his eyes brighter, glowing more where he’s silhouetted by the dim sunlight framing him from behind. Slade tries rocking his hips a little and they both groan, Slade wrapping his hand around Oliver’s cock as the pleasure builds low in his gut, at the base of his spine.

Oliver moans a little louder, grips the wrist of Slade’s hand on his cock before sliding his own up and wrapping it around Slade’s on him, rocking his hips up into it as his eyes fall shut again. Oliver can feel his cock leaking over both their fingers and he swallows, bending forward after a minute and bracing his free hand on the bed. He pants, eyes closed and brows drawn together as he keeps rocking his hips, rolls them again and shudders with another moan when Slade’s cock rubs across his prostate, a flicker of _lightning_ zipping up his spine.

“ _Slade_ ,” he moans again, the only thing he can think, breathy with his panting. Slade’s other hand lets go of his hip and reaches up, gripping his jaw and tugging him down the last bit to kiss him. Oliver goes, mouths catching as their chests press flush together, hands caught between them still wrapped around his cock. Slade’s slowly lets go and slides out from between them, then both of his hands move down, gripping Oliver’s ass and helping him rock, cock sliding out of him further before pushing back in _deeper_. Oliver moans louder as the pleasure builds faster, cheeks hot at- Slade _doing_ that, the _feeling_. Slade’s knees pull up behind him, feet bracing on the bed, and he starts thrusting up into him. Oliver moans a little louder, grips the sheets in one hand and Slade’s shoulder with the other while he pants between their messy kisses. One of Slade’s hands shift on his ass, fingers sliding down between his cheeks again and rubbing against his rim right above where Slade’s cock is thrusting inside of him-

The _pleasure_ spikes with the _arousal_ and it only takes another minute before Oliver’s coming hard, groaning roughly into Slade’s mouth while he pants. Slade’s thrusts pick up, gripping his ass tighter as Slade groans back just as roughly into his mouth, panting breaths meeting his own. Oliver spreads his knees a little and tries rocking back through his own orgasm, trying to help Slade find his, _**wants** him to_ -

Slade’s hips jerk up sharply against his ass and he _feels_ Slade come inside him, hot and strange and _messy,_ and sucks in a breath while Slade grunts hard. Slade keeps rocking through it and Oliver moans again, cheeks hot. Slade’s hips gradually slow to a stop, grip gradually loosening on him until his hand is just holding Oliver’s ass, the other’s fingers still between his cheeks while they pant against each other’s mouths, trying to catch their breaths.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Oliver breathes. Slade snorts quietly, breathily and leans his head up to kiss him again, tongue pushing into his mouth and against his own. Oliver sucks on it, panting through his nose, and Slade growls low, giving his ass a squeeze. The kiss trails off after a minute and Oliver drops his head to Slade’s shoulder, still trying to catch his breath, heart thumping hard in his chest and ears. He shifts a little after a few minutes and grimaces a little at the strange, messy feeling inside him, another coating of it on his stomach from his own cock.

“Need a shower,” he says quietly, shuddering faintly as Slade’s fingers trail up from where his cock is still inside him, up the length of his spine.

“I’ll move when you do,” Slade mutters back, and Oliver huffs quietly.

They stay still for another few minutes before Oliver makes himself sit up, making a face as he pulls up and off Slade’s cock. That empty feeling comes back, paired with the- _strangeness_ of the feeling of Slade’s _cum_ sliding out of him. Oliver looks down as he kneels on the bed, cheeks flushing when he sees the white of it sliding down his inner thighs. He looks up to find Slade looking at it too, something hot and intent in his gaze that sends a shudder of arousal up Oliver’s spine, Slade’s eyes dragging up to meet his.

Oliver shifts, climbs off the bed and gets to his feet and slowly heads to the bathroom, hears Slade get up off the bed and follow. Then hands grip his hips from behind, Slade’s hot breath on his shoulder before his mouth sucks a kiss into his skin. Oliver groans faintly, feels Slade’s cock give a twitch against his ass.

“Already?” Oliver mumbles, feels and hears Slade huff a breath against his skin.

“Mirakuru,” Slade grunts back. Oliver looks back at him over his shoulder, raising a brow a little. “And your perky ass,” Slade adds with a smack to it, startling Oliver into a jump. He glares back and Slade smirks, leaning forward to mouth a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “All that League shit did wonders.”

Oliver huffs again quietly and moves when Slade’s hands nudge his hips, stopping in front of the- bathroom mirror, he realizes when he looks forward. He stills, cheeks heating all over again as Slade looks at him in the reflection. One of Slade’s hands slide down from his hips to the underside of his thigh, still watching Oliver in the mirror as he lifts it, and Oliver- lets him, resting his knee up on the edge of the sink counter, cheeks going hotter at how more- _open_ and _exposed_ it makes him feel again. He leans forward when Slade gently nudges between the center of his shoulder blades with a few fingers, making his back curve and hips arch back a little. Slade’s hand disappears from his thigh and then Oliver feels his- _cock_ pressing to his entrance again, sees his own cheeks color darker as his mouth drops open a fraction, his own cock giving a twitch. He braces his hands on the sides of the mirror and Slade- _slides_ back inside him, _all the way_ in one go, Oliver’s eyes dropping shut as he sucks in a sharp breath and lets out a low groan.

Lips and teeth mouth and bite at his shoulder near his neck, stubble scratching and Oliver shudders, toes curling, in the air and against the hard, cool floor. One of Slade’s hands curl around his hip and Oliver drags his eyes open, looking back at Slade in the mirror, flush spreading down even further when he finds Slade still watching him. Slade doesn’t say anything, just pulls his hips back, cock sliding almost all the way out before _thrusting_ back in, eyes locked on his and knocking the breath out of him.

 _He’s using his cum_ , Oliver thinks distantly through the growing haze, swallowing a little, _Slade’s fucking me with his_ -

Slade’s other hand slides around and up his chest while Oliver’s cock hardens further at the _thought_ , gently grips his throat and pulls him back, Oliver letting go of the mirror as his back arches, eyes dropping to stay locked on Slade’s in the mirror as Slade keeps rocking inside him. Slade’s hand slowly slides down his chest and Oliver reaches back over his shoulder to grip at the back of Slade’s head, panting quietly as he watches Slade’s dark eye shift down, following the path of his hand. It slides over and fingers rub at his nipple and Oliver can’t help his eyes falling shut on a shuddery moan, head dropping back to Slade’s shoulder. Slade pinches and rubs at it while he keeps thrusting, steady and deep, sliding slick enough that Oliver can _hear_ it in the small space of the bathroom. Slade changes the angle of his hips and hits his prostate and Oliver moans sharply, loudly, cock leaking while he tries to grip at Slade’s hair.

“ _Slade_ ,” he moans, panting roughly. Slade’s hips snap harder, grip tightening on his hip and Oliver hears their skin slap together, body jerking forward a little with the force of the thrusts as the pleasure builds hot and heavy at the base of his spine, almost too much- The hand on his chest rolls his nipple again, _pinching_ and Oliver moans sharper, reaching back to grip Slade’s ass with his other hand. The feeling of it moving with Slade’s hips, paired with the feeling of Slade’s _cock_ thrusting inside just- makes the arousal and pleasure climb _higher_.

“ _Slade_ ,” he moans again, holding onto him tighter, digging his blunt nails in. Slade thrusts harder, faster, teeth digging into his shoulder while the fingers on his nipple let go and Slade’s hand slides down the length of his stomach, lower to wrap around his cock, stroking up-

Oliver comes so hard he sees white _stars_ again, shuddering roughly as he moans loudly, the sound deafening in the small room. Slade growls in his ear, bites at the side of his neck as his hips snap harder, faster still, chasing his own orgasm until they _jerk_ up roughly and Slade stills, groaning a low, deep growl against his neck as he comes, and Oliver- _feels it again, shudders_ at it. They both pant while they try to catch their breaths, Slade’s teeth letting go of his neck and licking over the spot, making Oliver shudder a little again with a quiet groan.

“I don’t want to stop fucking you yet,” Slade growls near his ear, sliding his messy hand down Oliver’s cock and coating it in his own cum. Oliver groans low, shuddering again as the arousal licks up his spine.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he pants, gripping at Slade’s hair and ass.

He still needs to go see Thea, deal with- _things_ , but the sun’s still up and right now all he wants is-

Oliver shifts forward and Slade’s cock slides out of him. He makes a small sound in the back of his throat at the feeling, can feel Slade’s cum sliding down between his cheeks again but turns around, gripping Slade’s jaw and kissing him roughly. Slade returns it, sucks on his tongue as the kiss turns hard and slides a hand around Oliver’s waist, drags his dry fingers back through his hair. Both of Slade’s hands slide down as he bends a little, breaking the kiss as he gets his hands under Oliver’s thighs and _lifts_ like he’s weighs nothing as he turns them around. Oliver wraps his legs around Slade’s waist, grunting quietly when his back hits a wall and cheeks warming when he feels his own cum on his thigh where Slade’s messy hand is gripping. It disappears as Oliver wraps an arm around the back of Slade’s neck, then Slade’s cock presses and _slides_ back into him so- _easily_ and his cheeks go hot all over again as he bends forward and kisses Slade, groaning when Slade starts thrusting again.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Oliver breathes between kisses, “ _Slade_ ,” gripping onto him tighter and holding onto his shoulder, blunt nails digging in again. Slade growls back into his mouth, hips moving in a constant roll against his ass, cock so- _deep and_ -

Slade presses him back further against the wall with his weight and bites at Oliver’s lower lip, drags his teeth across it. Oliver slides his tongue into Slade’s mouth as he groans harder, shuddering a little when Slade sucks on it. Slade’s cock isn’t hitting his prostate yet, just- fucking him, but the rhythmic, smooth slide of it so deep inside makes Oliver’s head hazy, makes him hot all over, even hotter where the furnace of Slade’s skin is pressing all along his front. Oliver’s cock rubs between them and he moans harder, then _sharper_ when Slade changes the angle of his hips a little and _does_ hit his prostate, holding onto Slade tighter.

Oliver has to pull his head back, panting too much to keep up the kissing and gets his eyes open, both of them watching each other up close, hot breaths panting against each other’s faces. Slade reaches up, grips his jaw, gaze a little hazy but liquid-hot like it was earlier, with-

Oliver’s cheeks go hot as he makes himself look back, slides his arm a little from around Slade’s neck to slide his fingers up the back of Slade’s short hair, feels Slade shudder a little under his hand, hips giving a sharper jerk before picking up the pace. Oliver moans, tries rolling his own hips back and Slade growls, leaning forward to kiss him rough and messily.

“ _Fuck me_ ,” Oliver breathes between kisses, holding onto him tighter. Slade’s hips snap faster as he growls again, louder, and Oliver moans against his mouth, can feel his orgasm approaching again, feel the _heat_ coil up _hot_ and _tight_ -

He lets it hit him like a tidal wave, _shuddering_ through it as he moans high and strangled into Slade’s mouth, _hot-cold_ all over with overstimulation. Slade’s hips snap up against his ass, loud in the confines of the bathroom, thrust him through it hard and fast as Oliver’s cum paints both their stomachs, squeezing his legs tight around Slade’s waist and gripping at his hair and shoulder. Slade follows him over the edge barely ten seconds later with a loud, rough groan, fucking them both through it while they pant.

Oliver can feel Slade’s cum sliding out of him again, can hear the wet sound of it when their skin meets with each thrust. He digs his fingers into Slade’s skin as he groans roughly, almost a _whine_ from the overstimulation and Slade’s hips finally slow to a stop. They pant hard against each other’s mouths for a minute and then Oliver drops his head, resting his forehead on Slade’s shoulder as he tries to catch his breath, curled around him tight. A hand brushes down over his hair, fingers sliding through it and gripping the lower side of his head as Slade pants next to his ear.

The pressure builds in his chest again and Oliver holds onto Slade tighter, manages to keep it all inside for a minute before he lets out, “ _I love you_ ,” again, eyes squeezed shut. Slade doesn’t say it back, but his grip tightens around him and Oliver-

He pulls his head up after a minute and looks down at Slade, still panting. Slade stares back up, hot gaze making his insides _melt_.

Oliver can see it. It’s been there for _weeks_.

He bends down and kisses Slade roughly and Slade returns it harder, firmer, cupping his jaw and sliding fingers back through his hair again.

 _He doesn’t need to say it_ , Oliver thinks, squeezing Slade’s shoulder and the back of his neck, _He already has been this **whole time**_.

The backs of his eyes sting and Oliver kisses him harder, Slade holding onto him tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [/XENA YELL] I'VE LOOKED AT THIS WAY TOO MANY TIIIIIIIIIIMES. Also sorry it's like 90% porn.  
> THANK YOU FOR PUTTING UP WITH MY WHINING TATCH. D8> OTL <333


	31. I want to say that I’m sorry for the pain that I’ve caused, I want to tell you I’m sorry for the mistakes that I’ve made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm tired of looking at this fdjsl So let's stop before I do it 50 million times.  
> Music the title's from (and catchy af. Also kind of Jason Todd song if you like that boy too); https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I3Ezq1fCQCM - "I Can't Breathe" by Dead by April

The car rolls to a stop in front of the Queen mansion and Lance looks up at it out of the passenger window, gripping the top of his cane tighter where it’s resting in the footwell. “Can you wait here for a few minutes?” he asks, dragging his eyes over to Lucas.

Lucas turns the car off before looking back, raising a brow. “You need to talk with her alone, but it’s not something you could have called her about?” he asks. Lance’s lips press together and Lucas’ expression sobers. “Does this have to do with Sara? Or that _thing_ you were working on?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Lance replies, heart beating harder at the mention of his daughter’s name. Lucas gives him a look and Lance raises his free hand in mock-surrender. “I won’t start an incident, if that makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t,” Lucas sighs, but nods him on anyway.

Lance gets his door open and his cane and good foot out first before grabbing the doorframe and shoving himself up and out of the car with a grunt, hopping a little before turning and closing the door. He heads over to the stairs and starts making his way up, brows drawing lower with every step.

“This rich and they can’t even bother to put in a ramp or something,” he grunts quietly to himself. He knows they have shorter stairways on the other side of the house, but it’s reserved for guests and family, of which he is definitely neither. He huffs an annoyed sound, slowly making his way up to the second set of stairs.

When he finally gets to the front double doors, he raises his fist and knocks (okay, bangs on it, a little), only for the right door to open and for him to be met with Huge Security Guy Number Four.

“I need to speak with Mrs. Queen,” Lance says, leaning on his cane a little more than he’d like. Stairs are a pain in the ass when he can’t really use one foot.

“One moment,” Security Guy says, pressing a couple fingers to his earpiece and relaying the message, “Detective Lance is here for Mrs. Queen.”

Lance’s eyebrow jumps up a little. _He remembered my name. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised, given his job_.

Security Guy looks to him as he takes a step back, pulling the door open and gesturing inside. Lance limps in, looking from him to Security Guy Five up ahead, who gestures into the living room with an arm. Lance follows, stopping near the couch and looking down at it. It’s tempting, but he needs to be on his feet for this.

It takes more than a few minutes, but eventually Moira Queen steps into the room from the other entreeway down at the far end, hair and clothes elegant and immaculate as ever, even her makeup, except Lance can still see the dark bags under her eyes through it when she gets closer, not overly obvious, but there.

“Detective Lance,” Moira greets, and even her voice sounds worn out through the formality of it. He can almost feel the same exhaustion in his own bones. “I’m afraid my daughter isn’t up to any more of your questions right now.”

Lance holds off what he was going to ask and studies her a moment, analyzing. Moira frowns a little, brows drawing together as her eyes narrow a fraction. “You seem tired,” he observes slowly. Her eyes narrow a little more before her expression smooths out.

“Yes. Well. There’s been a lot I’ve had to deal with lately,” Moira replies.

Lance’s eyes narrow a little. “Yeah, I can imagine. Your son running around murdering people must be taking a real _toll_.” 

Moira freezes for a second, just a second, but it’s answer enough. 

_She knows_.

She turns and takes a seat on the opposite couch before gesturing to the one he’s standing next to, and Lance debates it for a moment before dropping a little awkwardly into a seat, holding in his relieved sigh at getting off his feet.

“My son is dead,” Moira says flatly, lips pressing together as she rests a hand in her lap, the other on the armrest as she leans back into the plush, tan cushions.

Lance narrows his eyes again and holds in another sigh. Word chess game. _His favorite_. And one he doesn’t have the patience for. “We both know he isn’t,” he replies just as flatly, “And I’m pretty sure your daughter knows, too.”

Moira doesn’t react this time, but that’s a reaction in and of itself. She glances down at his cane and ankle, then back up. “I heard about your accident. I hope you’re alright,” she says steady and even.

Lance’s jaw tightens with his grip on the cane handle and he takes a breath. _Yeah, she knows_. “Fine,” he grunts out, “Just have some questions for my _would-be_ savior.”

Moira’s lips press together a little before her expression clears, opens, more openly tired and empathetic than he’s seen her since- since she came to his house and told him about-

Lance forces his thoughts off that track. He has questions about his daughter, he can’t afford to get swept up in _memories_ and _grief_.

“I don’t have those answers,” Moira says quieter, fingers curling a little, “I’m not sure your ‘would-be savior’ does either.”

“He _knows **something**_ ,” Lance grits back, leaning forward. _He has to_.

Moira’s lips flatten and they watch each other for a long, tense minute, then she stands and his eyes follow her up. “Come back tomorrow,” she says slowly, brows drawing together a little.

Lance stills and then pushes to his feet, nearly toppling over in his rush as the lead hooks under his ribs and _tugs_. His fingers curl tight over his cane handle and he takes a breath through the pressure and adrenaline spike in his chest, makes himself say it even though it could compromise everything: “He’s killing people, Moira.” Because Lance might hate her, he might hate her family, might hate her _son_ , but she more than anyone _gets it_ , and he _hates that too_ , hates that he feels _any_ sympathy. But Laurel was right when he brought it up before, Thea, Moira, they weren’t the ones who took his daughter away.

Moira stills, then her expression pinches. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replies evenly, turning for the hallway. She stops, taking a breath before looking back. “I’m sorry, Quentin.”

She leaves him with that, a guard stepping in and waiting in the nearby entreeway after she goes. Lance stares after her a moment before gritting his teeth and the cane tight and limping his way back to the doors, trying to ignore the- the _anger_ , the _frustration_ , the...hope. All things considered, Lucas will probably be proud of his restraint, he thinks, heading out the door with a glance when Guard Four opens it for him and back down all the pain in the ass _stairs_.

He has somewhere to start, that’s _something_ , and a hell of a lot more than he had twenty-four hours ago.

Diggle waits until Detective Lance is gone before stepping out of the hall near the family room, Moira’s eyes lighting on him. She tilts her head a little and they both head up the stairs by mutual agreement, Moira’s hand sliding along the smooth, polished wood railing.

“So you’ve been aware my son has been back for almost as long as I have,” she says quietly, and Diggle hesitates, letting out a low sigh as he follows her up a step behind. “And of Mr. Wilson.”

“I’m still not sure it’s safe to talk about this here,” Diggle replies.

Moira looks back at him briefly as they step onto the second floor. “You already swept this area for ‘bugs’, and we _need_ to _talk_.”

“Yes, I’ve been aware,” Diggle finally answers, slowing to a stop when Moira does halfway down to Thea’s room. She turns and looks up at him, brows drawn lower together and arms crossing, waiting. “I was working as your daughter’s bodyguard first,” Diggle continues, “When I found out about ‘Ghost’ spying on her, I went to confront him and things just…” He shrugs a little, blowing out another sigh. “I’ll understand if you want to fire me,” he adds, brows drawn together and jaw tightening.

“On the contrary,” Moira replies, making Diggle pause as her brows lower a little more, “I want you to keep doing what you’ve been doing. My daughter isn’t safe, and if she’s going to keep being unsafe, I’d rather she have someone guarding her who knows what she’s involved in and _why_ , and who now knows _I_ know,” Moira adds pointedly.

Diggle nods after a moment and Moira’s expression slowly eases, the tension in her form melting away as her arms uncross and lower. She reaches forward and grips his arm, and Diggle pauses again.

“ _Thank you_ , Mr. Diggle,” Moira says sincerely, brows drawn up together a little, “For looking after her so diligently. Just... _please,_ keep me in the loop this time.”

Diggle nods and Moira sighs a little, pulling her hand back and looking over at Thea’s door. He turns, looking over at it too, brows drawing together a little worriedly.

Thea hasn’t woken up screaming again, but she hasn’t come out either, not that he can blame her, _spikes_ went through her feet.

Diggle’s brows lower as his fingers curl into fists. He’s still _angry_ at Lyla over what happened and her involvement in it, but...he’s _worried, too_. Was Lyla in the facility when Oliver and Wilson demolished it? They might not be on the best of terms, but he doesn’t want her _dead_.

\-----

Laurel frowns up at the information map she’s put together in her bedroom closet so far, arms crossed as she scans over the newspaper clippings, her own notes, all tacked up on a corkboard. It all started with Thea Queen getting rescued by Ghost, twice, and then the other vigilante showed up, ‘Wraith’, trying to kill Moira Queen. He hasn’t tried since, but then he went after the Bertinelli’s, the Triads, and it’s seemed like him and Ghost have started working together.

Laurel’s brows draw together while she bites at her thumbnail, thinking that over.

That’s the part that doesn’t make sense. Wraith was going after Moira, then stopped, and since then, he and Ghost have been running around together. What’s _their_ connection? Ghost might not have been protecting Moira specifically, but there’s brief footage of him and Wraith fighting on a rooftop from Wraith’s assassination attempt, then there was the college student massacre, and now-

Laurel crosses her arms again while she slowly looks over the information, frowning further.

She needs to cross reference with her dad, he might know something she doesn’t, but…

She looks back to the center, lips twisting worriedly before she can stop herself, reading over Thea’s name at the center of the web.

_What’s so important about the **Queen** family?_

\-----

Oliver stretches out on his stomach with a quiet yawn, hands up under the pillow beneath his cheek. He gets his eyes open and looks over when he hears movement and feels the bed shift. Slade’s sitting on the edge with his back to him, bent over in his tac gear and kevlar, probably lacing up his boots. Oliver glances around the room, towards the windows.

It’s getting dark outside. The sun’s setting. He’ll need to get up soon too.

He looks back to Slade. He doesn’t have his swords on yet, but he’s nearly ready to go.

Oliver shifts a little, tries to ignore that _empty_ feeling again. It’s less than it was earlier now that he’s had the chance to sleep after-... _everything_ , but part of him still... _wants_. He takes a breath and pushes himself up on his hands and knees, pausing when Slade sits up and looks back over his shoulder at him, gaze going dark as he turns a little more, slowly dragging his brown eye down the length of him and back up. Oliver’s cheeks warm a little, fingers curling in the sheets while his cock takes an interest, that _want_ climbing.

“I need to go meet with Harper,” Slade says, watching him, but he doesn’t get up.

Oliver watches Slade back, then shifts and crawls over, kneeling up to rest a hand on Slade’s shoulder to help maneuver himself around, straddling Slade’s lap as Slade’s hands come up to grip his hips, squeezing gently. Oliver leans forward and kisses him, takes a breath through his nose as his cock hardens a little more at the feel of Slade’s rough gear against his bare skin, the kevlar, the clothes. Oliver leans forward and presses their fronts flush together, groaning quietly when one of Slade’s hands round to his back and calloused fingers slide down the center of his spine to between his cheeks, rubbing at his entrance. He did finally get a shower after they fucked against the wall, but his body’s still...more open than not.

Oliver grinds back a little and Slade kisses him harder, biting at his lower lip. Oliver’s cock stirs further and he winds an arm around the back of Slade’s neck, sitting up to grind against the front of Slade’s pants, panting quietly at the pain-pleasure of Slade’s gear and clothes against his skin. Slade growls quietly into his mouth and Oliver unwinds his arm after a minute, reaching down with both hands as Slade’s arm comes around his back to hold him up and getting Slade’s pants open and his cock out between them. Slade growls quietly into his mouth again, already about as hard as he is, and Oliver strokes him, slipping his tongue past Slade’s lips, up against the roof of his mouth. Two of Slade’s fingers dip inside him, not thrusting as much as earlier since there’s no lube, but enough to make Oliver groan quietly, reaching up to grip Slade’s shoulder with a hand and rock down a little on Slade’s fingers. Slade’s mouth pulls away and Oliver pants quietly, dragging his eyes open.

“My bag,” Slade says low, sucking kisses down his jaw and the side of his neck, biting at his shoulder. Oliver shudders and lets go of Slade’s cock, bending sideways away from Slade’s mouth to reach down and rifle through Slade’s open duffel on the floor. He finds the bottle after a moment and sits back up, popping the cap open. He curves his body forward so he can reach down between them, pouring lube over Slade’s cock before closing the bottle and dropping it back in the bag, sitting up. Slade reaches down between them and guides his cock back while Oliver grips both of Slade’s shoulders, the two of them watching each other as the head presses _in_ -

Oliver takes a slow breath and relaxes, slowly lowering himself down. He starts rocking a little to help work Slade further inside and bends down, pressing his forehead to Slade’s as he pants. Slade’s cock slowly presses in, deeper and _deeper_ as it stretches him back open, and whatever was left of that _empty_ feeling vanishes with it, Oliver’s eyes closing as he moans quietly. Slade’s hand leaves his cock to grip Oliver’s ass once he’s in far enough, helping him rock down further and Oliver groans, getting his eyes back open. Slade stares back up at him a moment, then both of his arms wrap around him as he stands and Slade’s cock slips out, making Oliver suck in a breath, pulling in another when he’s lowered and his back lands on something hard. He glances around, then reaches back and grips the top edge of the table while Slade grips his cock again and slides back in, Oliver’s eyes falling shut on a groan as his back arches a little and his toes curl, wrapping his legs around Slade’s hips. Slade’s hands grip his as he starts to thrust forward and Oliver pants quietly, drags his eyes open and looks up through the growing haze as he starts to get lost in the _feeling_ again, the way Slade’s cock slides inside him. They’ve already fucked several times and it’s _still_ like new.

Slade watches him back, one eye dark and panting quietly, lets go of one of Oliver’s hips to lean forward and brace his hand on the table and bends down, dragging a tongue over a nipple before biting it. Oliver arches up into the spike pleasure on a sharp moan and it changes the angle of Slade’s cock inside, makes him moan louder when it rubs across his prostate. Slade’s hips thrust faster, snap up harder against his ass as he sucks at Oliver’s nipple and Oliver reaches down, grips at Slade’s hair as the pleasure climbs. He tightens his legs around Slade’s waist and tries rocking his hips back, groaning again when Slade growls against his chest, hips snapping faster and rocking him on the table a bit with the force of it.

“ _Slade_ ,” Oliver moans, tightening his grip on the edge of the table, in Slade’s hair, shuddering when Slade’s armor rubs against his cock. “ _Fuck. **Slade**_ ,” he pants.

“Stroke yourself,” Slade growls against his chest, looking up when Oliver looks down. Oliver lets go of Slade’s hair and slides his hand between them, wrapping it around his cock and stroking up with a moan, cheeks warming as Slade watches his face. Slade lowers his head again and sucks harder at his nipple, drags his teeth down it before biting kisses to the other one and rolling his tongue around it before sucking again as the pleasure spikes. Oliver’s eyes drop shut on a louder moan as he strokes himself faster, matches the pace of Slade’s hips and spreads his precum down his own length, pushing his head back against the table. He barely lasts another minute before he’s coming with a near-shout, feels Slade’s hand grip his hip bruisingly tight and probably adding more bruises to the ones still fading on his skin. Then Slade follows him over the edge half a minute later, hips jerking up sharply against his ass before stilling. Oliver flushes more at the feel of Slade- _coming inside_ , still not... _used_ to it, and pants, trying to catch his breath.

Slade’s breaths pant hot against his chest, tongue dragging across his nipple one more time and making Oliver shudder before biting and sucking panting kisses up his chest, over his collarbone, up the side of his neck, stopping near his ear. “You’re making me late,” Slade says, rough and low, grinding his hips forward a little into the- _mess_ inside.

Oliver lets go of the table and reaches up to grip at Slade’s hair again with a quiet groan, turning his head to bite at Slade’s earlobe. Slade growls quietly in his ear and grinds his hips forward again, make Oliver’s cheeks hotter while he tightens his legs around Slade’s waist.

“ _He can **wait**_ ,” Oliver growls in reply, lifting his head a little to suck his own kiss into the side of Slade’s neck, below his jaw. Slade grinds forward against his ass again, pressing in as deep as he can go and Oliver’s toes curl as the arousal drags up his spine again, making him groan. They’ve already fucked more times than he has in _years_ , but he can’t stop- _wanting_. 

Slade doesn’t thrust his hips this time, just keeps grinding, circles his hips slow and firm against Oliver’s ass and Oliver moans sharply when Slade’s cock rubs across his prostate, shuddering at the _hot-cold_ , overstimulated feeling that spreads throughout his body. It’s almost _painful,_ unpleasant, but he _**wants it**_.

Slade keeps grinding forward, kevlar rubbing against his cock again and Oliver moans roughly, almost a whine, buries the sound in Slade’s neck and digs his teeth in. Slade’s hips jerk sharply against his ass with a sharp, low, rough groan and Oliver slides his hand down from Slade’s hair, gripping the back of his neck. Slade shudders a little against him and grinds harder, keeps going until that _hot-cold_ feeling finally gets pushed over the edge and Oliver comes again with a sharp, rough moan, gripping onto Slade tight as he shudders, pleasure whiting out behind his eyes. Slade chases his own orgasm for another few seconds before he follows with a louder, growled out groan muffled into his neck, both of them panting and Slade’s grip so tight on Oliver’s hip it _has_ to be leaving marks.

“Going to have a hard time not thinking about fucking you,” Slade grunts near his ear after a minute, pulling back enough to look down at him.

Oliver drags his eyes open and looks back up, leans his head up and kisses Slade roughly, gripping the side of his face. Slade kisses him back, presses Oliver’s head back down to the table and delves his tongue into his mouth to find Oliver’s own.

Slade pulls back and out after a few minutes and Oliver grunts quietly at the feeling, cheeks hot at the feel of Slade’s cum sliding out of him again as he clenches on the _empty_ feeling inside. They go hotter when he finds Slade looking down between his cheeks, toes curling a little at Slade’s lower back while his flush spreads down his neck. Slade drags his eye up and looks at him a moment before gripping and dragging Oliver’s hips forward down the table a bit and then dropping down into a crouch, disappearing-

Hands spread his ass cheeks apart and Oliver sucks in a breath, head dropping back to the table with a rough _groan_ when he feels a- _ **tongue**_ drag up between them, _slick_ and _**warm**_ and _new_. Oliver grips edge of the table so hard it _snaps_ , letting the broken piece drop to the floor before shifting his hand and gripping it again. “ _What are you_ -” he tries to get out, voice strangled and tight.

“You’re going to make a mess on the floor,” Slade replies, breath hot against his ass. Oliver feels Slade’s tongue slide _up_ between his cheeks again and moans low and rough, eyes slamming shut and brows drawing up a little, then Slade’s tongue _presses_ at his hole, then- _**inside**_ and Oliver nearly shouts, back arching a bit, surprised but at the same time-

His cock starts hardening on his stomach again and he groans harder when Slade’s tongue- _thrusts inside of him_ , pausing every so often to lick and suck at his rim. Slade’s tongue... _curls_ inside, pulls out and laps across his entrance again before _pushing_ back in and Oliver pants harder, gripping the table tight. One of Slade’s hands slides up and wraps around his cock and Oliver moans roughly, heat already building quick at the base of his spine with the arousal. Slade strokes him fast and rough, almost _too much_ , tongue still working inside until-

Oliver shouts as he comes, orgasm forced out of him and back arching sharply as he breaks the table again. Slade strokes and- _thrusts_ his tongue inside him through it as Oliver’s cum hits his stomach and chest with the rest from a few minutes ago and he moans loudly, panting heavily. 

Slade’s tongue slowly pulls out after a minute as his hand slows to a stop and Oliver drops to the table, just- laying there for a minute, overwhelmed. A few calloused fingers stroke light up the inside of his thigh and he shudders a little while he pants, dragging his eyes open, finds Slade standing between his legs and looking down at him again, gaze hot and heavy. Slade bends forward and licks up the mess on his stomach, his chest, his cock, then stands up again, licking his lips and staring down at him. 

They watch one another for a long minute, the- _**want**_ building higher and _higher_ before it spills over and Oliver sits up, immediately moving forward and shoving Slade back to the bed. Slade lands on his back with a grunt and Oliver drops smoothly to his knees on the floor, bracing his hands on Slade’s thighs and leaning forward to drag his tongue up Slade’s messy, half hard cock, sucking roughly at the head and groaning at the taste of Slade’s cum on himself. Both sets of Slade’s fingers dig into his hair as Oliver sucks, swirls his tongue around the head before sucking again with another low groan, almost a _growl_. Slade’s thighs spread under his hands and Oliver just leans forward more into the open space they make, sliding a hand up to grip Slade’s cock so he can hungrily suck the head into his mouth. Slade groans low and rough above him and Oliver sucks harder, careful of his teeth, lowering down to get as much of it in his mouth as he can. Slade’s hips jerk up a little and Oliver chokes when the head hits his throat, jerking his mouth off. But he only stops long enough to catch his breath a little before getting his mouth back on Slade’s cock, sliding it back inside. Slade’s fingers tighten in his hair with another rough groan and Oliver finally remembers to shift his forearm up, pressing it down against Slade’s hips to keep them pressed to the bed while he sucks harder.

“ _Oliver_ ,” he hears, low and rough, fingers stroking back through his hair. Oliver pulls his mouth off and sucks messy kisses down the length, drags his tongue up Slade’s balls and back up the vein on the underside of his cock before sucking below the head, then dragging his tongue over the slit while he pants quietly. He wants Slade to come, _god, he wants it so badly_.

Oliver sucks the head back into his mouth, bobs his head along as much of Slade’s cock as he can while he strokes the rest, shudders a little at the sound of Slade’s rough groan and looks up, finds Slade’s back arched and it just makes him suck harder, press Slade’s hips more firmly to the bed. They jerk after half a minute as Slade’s fingers tighten in his hair and Slade’s cum hits the back of his throat, making Oliver cough. He tries swallowing through it, tries to keep sucking but has to pull off briefly to cough again, clearing his throat. He keeps stroking Slade through it though, gets his mouth back on as soon as he can and licks up the cum sliding down the length, around the head, on his own lips and fingers. He slows his hand to a stop when Slade starts to go soft in his grip and lets up on Slade’s hips, panting quietly while he looks up.

Slade’s dropped back to the bed, chest heaving a little. The fingers in Oliver’s hair have gone slack but then slowly stroke through it again, gripping gently before relaxing. Oliver tucks Slade away and zips up his pants before crawling up over him on the bed, knees either side of Slade’s hips in a reverse from this morning. Slade gets his eyes open after a few moments and looks up, still panting, the hair hanging over Oliver’s shoulder brushing lightly across the side of Slade’s chest at the longest point. Slade reaches a hand up and slides it back through the side of Oliver’s hair, then tugs him down and kisses him roughly, tongue searching his mouth while Oliver groans, tastes _Slade_ on Slade’s tongue.

“ _Now_ I’m late,” Slade mumbles between kisses after a minute, pulling back with a last suck to Oliver’s lower lip. “You can show me more of what you’ve learned later,” he adds with a small, sharp smirk. 

Oliver snorts quietly and leans down to kiss him again before making himself pull away, shifting over and rolling up off the bed. Slade gets up and digs his mask and bluetooth out of his pocket, both of them glancing towards the window. 

The sun’s down now. 

Slade looks over at him and Oliver looks back, heart- beating a little faster. Slade’s gaze goes a little warmer around the edges before he puts the bluetooth in and pulls his mask down over it and Oliver swallows a little, chest warm, making himself turn and walk to the bathroom while Slade turns and heads out the door.

\-----

Felicity’s brows furrow while she types, the sound of Shado’s arrows hitting their marks with solid, wooden _thunks_ to her back right a steady background to her fingers hitting the keys. She’s been trying to go through Merlyn’s system as discreetly as possible so as not to get noticed, but it’s making things take a lot longer. His firewalls are good, but, she supposes, money will buy you that. At least Wilson, or Oliver, managed to sneak a bug in for her to get in through at _all_.

Another arrow hits the makeshift target a little harder than the last and Felicity pauses, glancing back at Shado before she keeps typing. Shado’s been at that as long as Felicity’s been at Merlyn’s firewalls. “Worried about Oliver?” she asks.

There’s another _thunk_ before Shado replies, “Slade has him.”

Felicity’s lips twitch faintly. “That’s not what I asked.”

Another arrow hits, then another, then Felicity hears a soft sigh. “A little.”

Felicity stops and looks back over her shoulder again, turning in her chair a bit to look at Shado better. She’s looking down at the floor, then her eyes shift to the black bow in her hand, then up to Felicity. “You could call him,” Felicity says with a little smile.

Shado pauses before blowing out a breath and shaking her head. She turns back to her makeshift target and draws her bow up, notching another arrow. “I think I’ll wait until they both surface again before doing that.”

Felicity pauses that time with a little frown as Shado’s arrow hits dead center with a _thunk_ , thinking that over, then her cheeks heat up so quickly it nearly makes her head spin when she figures out what Shado means, on _top_ of the visuals.

 _‘Top’? Really?_ Felicity thinks, mentally scolding herself. 

“Right. That. You really think they…?” she trails off. Shado looks over and quirks both of her brows, lips curving up a little on one side in something not-quite a smirk. Felicity spins back around to her computers, pressing her hands to her hot cheeks briefly before giving herself a shake, mentally and physically. “ _Right_ ,” she says again, blowing out a breath. She focuses back on the code scrolling up her middle screen, fingers lighting back on her keys and very purposefully _not_ thinking about... _that_.

\-----

Roy checks his phone again, frowning and brows drawing together a little worriedly when he _still_ doesn’t see a response from Queen. She’s been quiet since just after the quake. He supposes that’s not too strange, except...well, the quake. It mostly effected the Glades, but even she might’ve been effected by it somehow too, right? Unless she’s not responding because of some rich people...things. Parties or banquets or whatever.

He pockets his phone after a minute and sighs, looking around the warehouse Ghost sent him the coordinates for. It’s on the edge of the city at the opposite end as the Glades. _Probably to avoid the cops_ , he thinks, raising a brow. But Ghost is late, _ten minutes_ late. He wasn’t this late last time-

Roy jolts when something black comes out of the shadows and pulls in a breath when he recognizes the shape, blowing it out. “ _Why_ do you do that?” he demands. 

Ghost stops, head tilting a fraction before it straightens again, and Roy gets the distinct feeling Ghost is mocking him a little. 

Roy studies him a moment then frowns, crossing his arms. “I thought you were going to train me, not blow me off for two days,” he gripes.

“I had something to take care of,” Ghost replies, voice as rough and gruff as ever.

“What, have a hot date?” Roy asks, raising a brow.

“Something like that,” Ghost replies, making Roy pause, then do a double-take.

“ _You?_ A _date?_ ” he asks incredulously. Ghost gives him a look through the eye hole in his mask, not quite a glare, but close, and Roy straightens a little, shrugging. “Must be some woman if she can put up with you.” Ghost gives him another look, this one a lot closer to a glare than the last one and Roy raises his hands in mock-surrender.

Ghost lowers into position as he raises his fists and Roy sighs, uncrossing his arms and following suit.

“Here we go,” he mutters to himself, brows lowering and bracing himself as Ghost runs at him through the streetlight coming in through the grimy windows.

\-----

Oliver leaps up and lands silent on the Queen Mansion’s second story roof, past the estate security guards, moving silent around the corner and heading straight for the lit windows near the other end. He slows to a stop just before the warm light slanting down the roof and crouches, slowly leaning forward and glancing into the room around the half drawn curtains.

Thea’s sitting on her bed, back propped against the headboard by half of the pillows on her mattress and red sheets bunched up around her waist, staring distantly down at her bandaged hands resting in her lap with a pinched a line between her brows. The tv’s on at the opposite side of the room from the windows by the door, some news station, but it’s down low enough even Oliver can barely hear it through the glass. His chest gives a squeeze at the look on her face, at the bandages, the way her brows are drawn low and a little together and the dark color under her eyes. He looks down and follows the white bandaging going up both her arms nearly to her shoulders. They look clean, fresh, and it just makes the guilt in him worse. He shouldn’t have left her after, he should have _stayed_ , but...

He raises a hand after a minute, pauses and steels himself, then taps lightly at the window with a couple fingers. Thea’s head snaps up as her eyes widen and she freezes, Oliver’s heart beating harder at the scared look on her face. They stare at one another for a long minute before she shifts, guilt tightening in his chest at her wincing as she scoots to the side of the bed, slowly getting to her feet and just as slowly shuffling over. She stares down at him a minute through the glass and Oliver stays still, staring back up. Then she reaches over and unlocks the window, tugging it open an inch before shuffling back. 

Oliver takes a breath and slowly nudges it open further, watching for any sign that she doesn’t want him to, then slowly slips inside, closing the window behind him and taking a seat on the cushioned bench running the length of it, trying to stay...lower than her, non-threatening. They watch each other for another minute, Thea going to cross her arms before wincing and uncrossing them, arms hanging awkwardly at her sides while Oliver swallows through the guilt squeezing at his chest again. He drops his eyes, takes in her bandaged feet. They’re not bleeding, but they have to hurt.

It’s quiet. The pressure pushes at him until he has to swallow past it a second time, forcing his eyes back up to meet hers. “ _I’m sorry_ ,” he says, quiet and earnest. Thea’s brows draw further together and she looks away, down and off to the side, jaw tightening.

It’s quiet again, tense, and then-

“I don’t understand,” she says, voice a little hoarse, quiet, exhausted, matching the bags under her eyes. Oliver sits up a little straighter and her eyes shift back to him, freezing him in place, her brows furrowed and fingers curling and uncurling at her sides. “I’ve had a lot of time to think,” she continues quietly, “About what happened. And you-...you didn’t say anything to stop her, not when-” Thea cuts herself off, lips pressing flat together. The pressure squeezes tighter in his chest, the guilt, the _regret_ , but he keeps quiet, making himself hold her hard stare no matter how hard it is to not look away. “How...how could you be so _loyal_ to someone who- He _branded you, Ollie_ ,” she says, voice hard, angry, _confused_ , “The League leader. I _saw it_.”

Oliver makes himself hold her stare for another minute before finally letting his eyes drop, closing them firmly. “It was…” he trails off, clearing his throat quietly when it comes out a little rough. He drags his eyes open and makes himself look up at Thea again. “It was my decision, a sign of my commitment to the League, to Ra’s. I’ve spent...the past four years believing in their cause, in Ra’s’. When you were-...tortured, I...hesitated,” he confesses, brows drawing lower as he swallows a little, guilt squeezing his lungs so tight it’s getting hard to breathe, like last night. 

He moves forward after a minute and Thea shuffles back a little. Oliver drops to his knees in front of her, sees her eyes widen when he looks back up. 

“Thea, I am _sorry_ ,” he says, low and firm and sincere. She swallows, fingers curling tighter as the rims of her eyes start to go red. “I know it’s too late to say this, but I will _never_ do that to you again. I will _never_ let that _happen to you again_. I will _never_ again put the League or Ra’s above your wellbeing. I _won’t_.”

Thea stares down at him, eyes still a little wide and shining more in the warm light in the room. She closes and rubs at them with her fingers, swallowing. “Ollie, you _can’t_ \- It feels like you’re just trading the ‘League’ and ‘Ra’s’ for _me_. I don’t want-...” She swallows again, voice hoarse, and opens her eyes to look down at him. “I just want my _big brother back_ ,” she says, quiet and voice as watery as the tears building in her eyes. She shakes her head and rubs at them again, then a third time, face crumpling as she starts to cry quietly. “ _I just want my big brother back_.”

Oliver swallows hard, his own eyes stinging as his heart beats hard in his chest, squeezes _tight_. He slowly pushes to his feet and Thea opens her eyes again, as red as her nose, looking up at him. “...I’m here,” he says quietly, voice a little rough, and spreads his arms open a bit. She keeps watching him, not moving, swallowing again while her brows draw up together. “I promise,” Oliver says quieter, his own brows drawn together, “Thea, I _promise_. _It’s me_.”

Thea stares up at him for another minute, more tears slipping down her cheeks, and then she quickly shuffles forward and wraps her bandaged arms around him, fingers curling in the back of his new hoodie. He wraps his own arms gingerly around her, careful of her bandages, and presses a kiss to the top side of her head. She squeezes him tighter, tears soaking into his hoodie as she cries quietly, muffling the sounds against his shoulder. “ _Really?_ ” she asks quiet and strained, shoulders hunching up.

“I _promise_ ,” Oliver repeats firmly, gently rubbing a hand up and down her back. She holds onto him tighter, cries a little harder, trembling in his hold while her fingers curl tight in the back of his hoodie. Oliver tries to breathe through his closing throat, the tightness in his chest. “ _I promise_ ,” he whispers, pressing another kiss to her head and closing his eyes, resting his cheek against it. He’s still an assassin, still...a _mess_ of things, but he’s enough of her brother now that he can promise that without breaking it.

Thea cries harder and Oliver shifts after a minute, gently scoops her up before backing up a foot and taking a seat on the bench so she’s not on her feet. She buries her face in his shoulder, holds onto him tighter like she’s a child again and he holds onto her right back, lets her cry against his shoulder while his eyes burn and his chest goes _too-warm_ all over again. It’s different from how he feels about Slade, but it’s still...old, familiar, protective, _warm_. It’s still-...love.

\-----

“He actually beat them,” Malcolm says quietly to himself, surprised, eyebrows raised a bit as he watches the report. They don’t name the building as belonging to A.R.G.U.S., but he’s been keeping tabs on it since he gave Oliver the location. It went up in in a cloud of rubble dust some time last night. There hasn’t been any news of Thea Queen being reported missing or turning up dead either, so Oliver most likely succeeded.

Malcolm turns off the report on his computer, spinning left in his chair before pushing himself up and walking over to the floor to ceiling windows, looking out at the city again, the rubble and giant sinkhole of the Glades, crossing his hands at his lower back. His lips slowly curve up at the edges, brows lowering.

Whatever’s been done to Oliver, it can’t solely be the Pit, Ra’s strength, speed, and stamina have all been increased from exposure to the Lazarus’ waters, but never that drastically. But whatever it is, Oliver really might be able to beat Ra’s and wipe out Malcolm’s debts, and Oliver’s own. He might be the key to putting all this to bed. Moira will become Mayor, guide the city towards what their little cabal all agreed to, or what’s left of it, Oliver will kill Ra’s, and then…

Malcolm’s lips curve up a little more, fingers curling behind his back.

Who knows? And if Oliver becomes a problem, well…

Malcolm’s smile fades as he considers it, rolling his shoulders back.

 _Ghost_ is already a problem, but he seems to be following Oliver around, listening to him to some degree, at the least. Maybe Malcolm can gain Oliver’s trust and avoid having to resort to more...bloodier means of dealing with them.

He turns back to his desk and walks over, brushing his fingers lightly across Rebecca’s recording’s container, lips pressing firmly together.

For Tommy and his own regret for Robert, if nothing else, he’ll _try_ to avoid that, if possible.

\-----

Oliver holds Thea until she’s tired herself out, her sobs gradually dying down to exhausted sniffles. He stands and carries her over to her bed, gently maneuvering her down beneath the covers before just as gently pulling them up and tucking her in. It’s...familiar. He used to tuck her in when their parents both stayed late at the office working, or when they were at conferences, or dinner parties, something to promote the company.

Oliver bends back down after a moment and reaches up, gently brushes some of Thea’s wavy, dark bangs aside and she rolls towards him onto her side, wincing a little as she shifts her arm out ahead of her so she’s not laying on it, dark blue eyes cracking open to look up at him. “Stay?” she asks, small and quiet.

Oliver’s throat closes a little and he turns, carefully sits on the edge of the bed, reaching down to brush her bangs back a little more. She’s nineteen now, not ten, not seven, not five, but the last time he really saw her was when she was fourteen, shorter than she is now and so...She’s still young, to him, still his baby sister, and he still has the urge to stay here until he’s sure she’s asleep, safe and sound. It’s another old feeling, one he hasn’t felt in years, but it’s just as warm, nearly unbearably so, like all the rest.

“Until you fall asleep,” he whispers, pulling his hand back, a little surprised when she catches it with her own and holds it on the sheets, her eyes on it. Oliver drops his own to them too, backs of them stinging a little again. He’s not used to...the gentleness in the touch, in any of it, from anyone. Slade kissed his forehead and he cried. Thea’s just holding his hand and he’s on the verge of doing it again. It makes him feel weak, but the feeling’s buried under the warmth in his chest and the tightness in his throat.

“Will you come back?” Thea whispers, eyelids drooping. She blinks them back open and looks up at him again, struggling to stay awake.

“If you want me to,” Oliver whispers back, rubbing his thumb gently over her knuckles. Her eyes shine a little more in the light and she closes them, nodding and turning a little more towards her pillow. She looks over at their hands again, giving his a squeeze.

“It’s ridiculous,” she half-mutters, “I’m an adult, but right now I feel like I’m five all over again.” Oliver’s lips twitch up and Thea glares at him a little, making his lips curl up a little more. She blinks while he tries to adjust to the...feeling. He hasn’t _smiled_ in a long time. Thea opens her mouth, then closes it, cheeks a little redder. “Shut up,” she finally mutters, but there’s no heat in it and her own lips curl up too. Her smile slowly fades as she studies their hands, rubbing her own, soft thumb over the side of his weapons calloused one. “Just don’t leave without saying goodbye again,” she whispers, voice wetter. Oliver stares at her and she shifts her eyes up to him, tears welling. “ _Please_ ,” she begs.

He can’t tell if she means for the night, or for longer, but it feels like…

Oliver swallows a little and gives her hand a gentle squeeze, then leans down and presses another kiss near the top of her head. “ _I promise_ ,” he whispers there before pulling back a little, throat going tight again. She reaches up and wipes at her eyes with her fingers, not letting go of his hand to do it. His lips press together as his heart beats harder and the pressure pushes at his insides, swallowing again.

He doesn’t want to leave his family, but with the League coming eventually, he might not...he might not have much of a choice. If he has to leave to keep his family safe, he will. He won’t see them pay for the life he’s chosen ever again.

“And call this time, or write,” Thea continues, drawing him out of his thoughts. She sniffles quietly, rubbing at her eyes again before resting their hands back on the sheets. “We own a private jet,” she tries to joke quietly, almost a whisper, smile strained and small but eyes firm, “I’m old enough to use it.”

Oliver’s lips twitch faintly and he takes a breath through the weight in his chest, the pressure and warmth and uncertainty. “I promise,” he whispers again, “If I ever need to-...leave, I won’t leave you alone in the dark.”

Her eyes tear up a little more and she closes them tightly, nodding.

She doesn’t say anything more after that, and Oliver stays still where he is, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles until he hears her breathing change, go slower, deeper. Even then, he doesn’t move for another ten minutes, thinking over everything while he makes sure she’s safe and asleep. 

Eventually, he gently untangles his hand from hers and slowly stands, making sure not to wake her, and heads back for the window, pausing. He looks over at Thea again, then her bedroom door, lips pressing together.

He’s not sure he can handle seeing his mother again yet after that. It’s...hard, dealing with the emotions his mother and sister stir. They’re strong, almost overwhelming, their warm affection almost enough to kill him swifter than any sword, especially after the time and distance. For now, he needs…

He slips out the window and quietly closes it behind him, checking on Thea one more time, decides to leave the lights on just in case. It should ward off some people from trying anything, if they think about it, and Thea will be able to see if she needs to move. Besides...if she was attacked in the dark before, she might not want them off. She was already twitchy when he just knocked on her window earlier.

He slips off the Queen property and starts heading back for the city, pushing his hands into his pockets. He can still feel the warmth of Thea’s hand in his and his fingers curl, brows drawn together.

He needs to be alone.

\-----

Slade tosses Harper back over his shoulder before whirling around, hears and sees him land with a hard _thud_ and a rush of breath on the warehouse floor. Harper pants, laying in a heap, clothes covered in dirt and chest heaving. Slade eases up out of his stance.

“That’s enough,” he says. They’ve been at this for three hours. He’s a little surprised Harper can keep up with the mirakuru that well, even with Slade holding back.

Harper lets out a harsh breath and tries to sit up, groaning strained until he finally manages it, immediately curving forward. “Maybe I should train with the other guy,” he grunts.

Slade snorts quietly. “He’d take you apart in two.”

“Minutes?” Harper pants, still trying to catch his breath.

“Seconds,” Slade replies. He watches Harper for another minute and then the boy slowly shoves himself up to standing with another strained groan, Slade’s lips pressing together in thought. Maybe he’s pushing too hard. The criminals aren’t going to go easy on him, but wearing the boy out to the point that he’s useless and not learning anything isn’t helpful either, if teaching Oliver on the island was anything to go by.

“Same time and place tomorrow?” Harper asks after another minute.

“Night after,” Slade grunts, _trying_ , “You’ll get a text.” He leaves it at that and turns to go, slipping into the shadows and out of the warehouse.

Roy stares after Ghost’s retreating back until it disappears, blinking. “Did he just give me a night off?” he mutters, stunned.

\--

Slade crouches on the roof, listening, watches the hotel parking lot and makes sure it’s empty and silent before dropping down onto the second story landing and slipping his key into his room’s door, quickly unlocking it and stepping inside. He closes it quietly behind him, hesitates on locking it and decides to leave it before dropping his key over on the nightstand and stripping his gear off, undoing the straps for his swords, the grenades across his chest, stripping down to his boxers. He shoves all his gear back into his duffel and sets his boots near the nightstand before crossing to the bathroom and flipping the light on, heading straight for the shower.

After he’s done and dried off and slipped his boxers back on, he flips the bathroom light back off and steps out into the main room, stilling when he sees a dark shape sitting at the table in the far right corner, Oliver’s glowing green eyes giving him away. Slade watches him a moment before walking over, leaving the lights off. 

“You should get contacts,” he mutters.

Oliver doesn’t say anything, eyes down and presumably focused on the table. 

Slade takes a seat on the opposite chair, the blind covered window and table between them. He rolls his shoulders out and pops his neck with a sigh, letting the quiet try to settle into his bones. “How’s Thea?” he asks quietly eventually. 

Oliver’s eyes finally shift up briefly before they drop back to the table, then shift over to the window. “Sleeping,” he answers quietly.

“And you?” Slade asks next. Oliver’s eyes jump back to him before shifting away again, leaning away after a minute and resting against the back of the chair.

“Thinking,” Oliver mutters.

 _Of course he is_ , Slade thinks, raising an unimpressed brow.

They sit in the dark and quiet for a little while, Slade gradually letting it relax the tension out of him, the adrenaline, the energy it takes just being _out_. He’s more wired when he has to be around people, or on mission, but it’s different when he’s alone, or with Oliver. The kid’s quieter than he used to be on the island, but he’s always had that way about him, a calm that spreads out to the people around him, if they let it. As much as Oliver was usually the one engaging others, there were times he’d retreat into himself and become the kind of still and quiet Shado kept trying to teach him to be more regularly. He’s mastered it now, it seems, but apparently he still needs the solitude from time to time.

Slade lets out a slow breath, turning and sitting back against the wall and dropping the back of his head to rest against it next to the window, closing his eyes. 

He’s never been around someone like Oliver, not this long. Billy was quiet by nature, but he was never _still_ , not the way Shado and Oliver are. He was always tense, focused. Yao Fei wasn’t quite like that either, always on the lookout, moving, like a bird, even if his body was still, his senses were always alert, eyes darting around their surroundings when they were meeting. Even Shado had an alertness about her, still does. Oliver’s the only one of them who ever really let his guard down. It made sense for them not to, being on the island, but being here in a place that isn’t the same type of survival as the island makes things...different. It’s like a pair of shoes that don’t quite fit, like he and Oliver are just passing through, almost. Oliver seems set on staying, but Slade’s not sure if he really will, in the end. He’s more mercurial than he used to be.

Slade gets up after a little while, heads over to the bed and throws half the sheets down before getting in, leaving Oliver to his stewing. He closes his eyes and focuses on his hearing. It’s quiet outside, almost strangely so for a city, but with the quake having drawn everyone towards the opposite end, he supposes that’s not too strange. 

He barely hears Oliver move after ten minutes, hears clothing shift, boots hit the floor before the bed dips near his feet and Slade opens his eyes. Oliver’s green ones move up closer in the dark, glowing bright in the pitch. They stop above him with the dips in the bed, two points either side of his shoulders and next to his hips. He can feel the ends of Oliver’s wispy hair lightly brushing across his chest, shifting fractionally as they stare at one another. Then the green of Oliver’s eyes get closer and close just before lips press to his and Slade reaches up, manages to find the side of Oliver’s face in the dark and slips his fingers back through his hair. Oliver breathes quietly through his nose, breaths hot against his face, and Slade leans up into the kiss as Oliver presses down, Slade parting his lips and letting Oliver’s tongue slip inside. They just kiss for a long minute, tongues sliding slick and warm together before it tapers off.

“Going to teach me what you learned?” Slade asks. Oliver’s green eyes stare down at him a moment before shifting left, bed dipping as Oliver bends over the side and Slade hears him dig through his bag. He comes back up after a minute and Slade hears the lube cap pop open, cock stirring. He kicks the sheets down a bit and then pulls his knees up either side of Oliver’s legs, planting his feet on the bed. “Well?” he asks when Oliver doesn’t move. 

Oliver shifts forward after a minute, reaches over and _clicks_ on the lamp on the nightstand, both of them squinting for a few moments in the sudden wash of light. Oliver looks down at him after their eyes adjust, skin washed warm in the light, then bends over Slade and kisses him again, harder, more insistent. Slade reaches up and pushes some of Oliver’s hair back, gathering some of it up behind Oliver’s head and just holding onto it. Oliver blows out a breath through his nose and lowers down between Slade’s legs, grinding forward so their cocks rub together through his boxers. Slade growls quietly, reaches up with his other hand and drags his blunt nails up Oliver’s back. Oliver shudders against him with a low, quiet groan and grinds forward again, the pain-pleasure from the friction drifting up Slade’s spine.

Oliver’s mouth leaves his after a minute, pressing kisses down his chin and jaw to his neck, down some of the length of his collarbone. Slade grinds his hips up as Oliver grinds down and they both groan quietly, Slade sliding a hand down to grip Oliver’s ass. A rush of hot breath hits his chest and then Oliver shifts down a little and sucks at his nipple, sending a spike of pleasure up Slade’s spine. He arches up into it a little and grips at Oliver’s hair a little tighter before relaxing his grip, letting out a slow breath. Oliver keeps sucking, bites gently before reaching up with his free hand and rolling the other with his rough fingers, grinding his hips down harder. Slade rocks up into it, both their cocks leaking, and groans again quietly when Oliver’s teeth bite down harder. 

Oliver pulls his mouth off after a minute and reaches down with a hand, Slade getting his eyes back open and reaching down with one of his own to help Oliver get his boxers off. They disappear over the side of the bed and then Oliver grabs the lube and squirts some over Slade’s cock, propping the bottle against the sheets before lowering their hips back together. Their mouths slot together as Oliver grinds down, spreading the lube over their cocks with each roll of their hips, both of them groaning again, muffled into each other’s mouths. Slade grips at Oliver’s hair again, his bicep, rocking his hips up as Oliver grinds his own down. Their kisses turn messy as the pleasure builds hot at the base of their spines, low in Slade’s gut, almost as hot as where their hips are grinding together, slick and warm. Slade reaches down with the hand on Oliver’s arm and grips his ass again, dragging their hips harder together as he pants quietly through his nose. Oliver groans louder and rocks his hips faster, panting back against his mouth.

They come about the same time, Slade’s hips jerking up sharply with a growl as Oliver’s grind roughly against his own with a rough moan, their cum painting their stomachs as they both grind through it, Oliver’s head dropping to dig teeth into his shoulder with a louder groan. Slade grips his ass harder, keeps grinding through the white flush of pleasure flooding behind his eyes as he groans roughly, pushing his head back into the pillow with his eyes squeezed shut. They both gradually slow to a stop, panting. Oliver’s teeth let go of his shoulder and lick over the indentations he left before he lifts his head, looking down at him. 

Slade gets his eyes open and looks back. Oliver leans down to kiss him for a minute and then Slade reaches for the lube, Oliver pulling back a little after a moment. Slade jerks his chin up with a downwards glance and Oliver pauses before reaching up and holding a hand out. Slade squirts lube onto his fingers and Oliver rubs it between them, green eyes watching the clear liquid smear over his skin. Then his eyes move up to Slade’s before he shifts, bracing his weight on a hand and reaching down between them. Slade pulls his knees up a little more, taking a breath and letting it out slow when he feels Oliver’s wet fingers slip between his cheeks. They keep their eyes on each other as Oliver slowly presses his fingers forward, circling Slade’s entrance slowly, exploratorily. Slade keeps himself relaxed, incling his head a little after a minute, and Oliver lowers his own a fraction in answer, slowly pressing his finger forward. He keeps circling with his finger as he does it, and after a few seconds- the tip pushes in to the first knuckle and Slade lets out a slow breath through it, shuddering faintly.

“Been a while,” he mutters. 

Oliver’s eyes shift back up to his where they drifted down a bit, still silent. Slade reaches up and brushes some of Oliver’s hair behind his ear so he can at least see what he’s doing. Oliver leans down and kisses him again, gives Slade a minute to adjust before he starts rocking his finger further in. Slade lets out a slow breath through his nose while he tries to stay relaxed, shifting his feet on the bed before he starts slowly rocking down onto it, helping it along. Oliver groans quietly into his mouth and Slade sucks on his lower lip, bites it. Oliver shudders faintly, then does it again when his knuckle finally presses against Slade’s ass. Slade feels Oliver’s finger curl inside, searching. It takes him a minute, but then Slade’s back arches a bit when Oliver finally finds his prostate, groaning low and rough as he presses his head back into the pillow again. He feels Oliver suck kisses down his jaw, drag his teeth, finds a spot on Slade’s neck to bite and suck at while he _rubs_ -

Slade groans louder, cock hardening halfway as the pleasure shudders through him, up his spine, out his limbs, behind his eyes. “ _Fuck_ ,” he groans, getting his eyes open and staring up at the ceiling while he pants. 

_Definitely_ been a while.

Oliver stops rubbing, goes back to thrusting his finger slow and deep and Slade drops back to the bed, panting quietly. Oliver’s mouth trails back up to his and Slade gathers up and grips his hair again, kissing him roughly while he rocks down onto Oliver’s finger. Oliver groans quietly and thrusts it a little harder before pulling it out and pressing at Slade with two, Slade taking a breath to relax before grunting an assent. Oliver slowly works them inside, a little hesitant, but patient, thorough, and Slade sucks on his tongue, his upper lip, slides his free hand down in between them and gets his hand on Oliver’s cock. Oliver moans into his mouth, hips jerking a little up into it with his fingers inside. They curl and Slade groans back as his toes curl on the sheets, shuddering a little at the wash of pleasure.

Oliver works his fingers up to the knuckles, thrusting them for a couple minutes before spreading them on the way out, repeating it once, twice, three times. Oliver keeps it up for a minute before drawing them back and pulling himself away, sitting up on his knees while Slade lets go of his hair. Oliver grabs the lube while he pants, eyes on Slade’s as he squirts it out over his fingers. Oliver drops the bottle and reaches down and slips them back between Slade’s cheeks, pressing at him with three. Slade spreads his thighs wider while he pants back, relaxes his body as much as he can and they slowly, slowly press inside.

Slade lets out a slow breath, watches Oliver’s eyes shift down to watch his fingers as they slowly start rocking inside, then Oliver’s gaze drags up the length of him, over his cock, up his chest, back to his face, Slade’s cock giving a twitch when he can practically _feel it_. He curls his fingers in the sheets and slowly starts rocking his hips down, groaning low and quiet. Oliver’s eyes go darker than they were, green almost swallowed up by the black and he bends forward again, braces a hand on the bed and kisses Slade harder.

“This more familiar to you?” Slade asks between kisses, letting the sheets go to grip Oliver’s hair and arm again.

“Yes,” Oliver pants back, kissing him rougher. 

Slade sucks in a breath when Oliver’s knuckles brush his ass and then his fingers spread slow on the way out, only to slide back in and do it all over again. Slade tightens his grips, slides the hand on Oliver’s arm up to his shoulder and digs his blunt nails in. Oliver groans his own growl into Slade’s mouth, working his fingers inside him a little faster for a minute before finally drawing them all the way out. Oliver pushes up on his hand while reaching for the lube again, squirts it messily down his cock, between Slade’s cheeks before closing the cap and dropping the bottle aside, stroking himself once with a rough breath before guiding his cock forward. Slade relaxes himself again when he feels the head press against him, looking up and watching Oliver’s face while Oliver looks down, brows drawn together in concentration. Oliver presses forward further, a little more- then the head slowly pushes inside and Slade sucks in a quiet breath at the feeling, Oliver’s eyes darting back up to his. 

Oliver’s hips rock slow, almost agonizingly so, slowly working his cock in enough to let go before bracing both hands on the bed near Slade’s head and leaning down to kiss him hard. Slade returns it, gripping Oliver’s hair tighter as he pants through his nose, groaning quietly into Oliver’s mouth. Oliver’s tongue slides firmly against his as he keeps rocking his hips, cock working deeper and _deeper_ until Oliver’s hips finally press to his ass and Slade lets out a breath through his nose, breaking the kiss and dragging his eyes open to look up at him. Oliver gets his own eyes open and looks back, panting quiet and close. 

Slade reaches up, cups his jaw and Oliver’s eyes warm a little around the edges, for all that they’re alien and green like toxin, somewhere between poison and the green on Lian Yu. Oliver bends down and kisses him again, slower, harder, layered, wispy hair curtaining them from the lamplight to his left and Slade leans his head up into it, sliding his hand down to grip the side of Oliver’s neck over the scar. Oliver lets out a harsher breath between kisses and then slowly, experimentally grinds his hips forward, both of them groaning roughly. Slade reaches around with his free hand and drags his fingers down the tattoo lining Oliver’s spine, feels Oliver shudder over him before wrapping an arm around Oliver’s waist, holding on. Oliver slowly draws his hips back an inch and then just as slowly presses back forward with a low, quiet moan, draws his hips back to do it again. 

He sets up a slow rhythm, just shallow at first, before his hips gradually pick up the pace, kisses turning messy again as they pant, breaths puffing hot against each other’s faces. Oliver spreads his knees a little more on the bed and thrusts his hips faster, deeper, shuddering a little at the sound of Slade’s growled groan against his mouth, getting his eyes open to look down. Slade’s mismatched eyes are already open, one eye watching him and Oliver rocks his hips harder, a little faster, chasing the pleasure building at the base of his spine.

Slade reaches up, grips the back of Oliver’s neck and jerks him down the inches between them to kiss him again, mostly breath and messy and Oliver groans, snapping his hips hard enough to hear their skin meet. Slade’s hips start rocking back to meet his thrusts and Oliver shudders as the pleasure races up his spine, moaning and panting into Slade’s mouth. He feels one of Slade’s hands slide down between them, then Slade start stroking himself off between their stomachs and Oliver finally remembers to try and angle his hips up-

It takes him a minute to find it again, but then Slade’s groan goes louder, sharper and the kiss breaks as Slade pushes his head back into the pillow, groaning roughly out into the room. Oliver keeps snapping his hips, aiming for that single spot as he pants, groans back- And then Slade’s hips give a sharp jerk as he comes with a loud, rough groan, clenching down around Oliver’s cock so hard Oliver can’t help moaning loudly, pleasure spiking and cresting as he follows Slade over the edge, leaning over him on the bed. He vaguely feels Slade’s cum hit their stomachs as he keeps thrusting his hips through the waves of pleasure, soaks in the sound of Slade’s rough groans and the familiar feeling of him- coming _inside_ someone. He hasn’t in so long it’s almost a new feeling all _over_ again. 

Oliver gradually slows his hips to a stop when he feels his cock start to go soft, panting heavily. He lowers himself down, presses all along Slade’s front, cum smearing across their skin with their light sweat. They both pant, Slade’s ribcage rising and falling quickly beneath his own.

A hand brushes back the side of his hair after a few minutes and Oliver lifts his head from where it lowered to Slade’s shoulder, pausing briefly when Slade’s lips firmly meet his before leaning into it with a faint groan. Slade kisses him hard and slow, hand sliding around to grip the back of his head, and then Slade eventually pulls back, both of them still panting. 

“Not bad,” Slade says, quiet and rough, eye on him, “Guess you are a quick learner.”

Oliver snorts faintly and leans forward to kiss him again, shudders a little when Slade’s other hand slides down his back. They keep kissing, and _keep kissing,_ Slade’s stubble scratching against his own. Oliver doesn’t really want to stop, gets lost in the way it feels, Slade’s stubble against his chin, the corners of his mouth, the hot, wet slide of Slade’s tongue against his, all of it paired with the feeling of their fronts pressed flush and hot together and Oliver’s cock- _inside_ him. 

He doesn’t want to _stop_.

It’s similar to when he was with women, not quite the same process, but close enough that Oliver didn’t completely feel like a newborn fawn stumbling in the woods, but...The amount that it’s the same is drastically less compared to the amount that it’s _different_. Slade is still bigger, wider, full of muscle and deep groans and the strength to hold Oliver where he wants him _if_ he wants to, and that alone is- terrifying, _intoxicating_.

Oliver finally makes himself pull his head back after a minute and looks down at Slade, reaches up and grips the side of his neck, fingers brushing his jaw. Slade reaches up and brushes some of his hair back again, watches the wispy strands slide and fall back to dangle over him, then Slade’s eyes shift to his. His dark one warms again, spreads that warmth out through Oliver’s chest and Oliver can’t help leaning down and kissing him again, doesn’t- _want_ to stop himself, or the feeling. 

Slade kisses him back, and keeps kissing him, as long as Oliver wants.

\-----

“Agent Michaels. Report,” a man’s voice orders.

“Agent Waller was going after the Starling City vigilantes known as ‘Ghost’ and ‘Wraith’,” she answers, sat at the metal table under a circle of light, everything beyond it dark and murky. It’s an intimidation tactic, one that stopped working on her years ago.

“We managed to salvage some footage of someone entering the headquarters’ premises. Is this one of the vigilantes you speak of?”

She looks over and up to the screen as it comes to life, pausing on a still of a figure in black bursting through the double front doors of her old office building like they’re made of _paper_.

“That is Wraith, yes,” she answers, dragging her eyes from the still to look forward again. _Oliver Queen_.

It’s quiet for a beat, then: “We’re assigning you temporary task leader of Project X. Your assignment is to apprehend the Starling City vigilante known as ‘Wraith’ and bring him in, dead or alive. Understood?”

“Understood,” Lyla answers firmly, sitting straight against the back of the steel chair. She glances up to the figure just beyond the light, can see a dark suit and little else. “And Waller? How is her condition?” she asks.

“Still comatose,” the man answers, “Paralyzed from the waist down.”

Lyla stills and then lets out a slow breath, eyes dropping to the shining metal tabletop. She gives a nod and the man leaves, shined shoes moving quietly across the cement floor. Lyla’s fingers curl into tight fists on her lap beneath the table and she clenches her jaw. She slants her eyes back over to the still image on the screen, of- _Oliver Queen_ running in to decimate their base near single handedly.

 _She’ll get them. Both of them_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I told Tatch word for word XDD ;
> 
> Me: okay they're going to fuck with slade in his gear  
> Them: Okay  
> Slade: How about instead of one orgasm I fuck oliver on the table and we have two  
> Me: I- Okay  
> Slade: ...Well, now he's going to make a mess when I pull out so I should eat him out  
> Me: Slade-  
> Oliver: _Now I want to blow him_  
>  Me: g-GUYS-  
> Me: The pLOT GUYS  
> Slade: I was trying but I've created a monster  
> Oliver, head buried in Slade's lap: _????_
> 
> T-they were supposed to fuck once
> 
> Also some pics. Drew his hair too long on the first one but I wasn't kidding when I said it was wispy;
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 


	32. This is the way of the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song the title's from; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=apcB9i5mX68 - "The Way of the World" by Destrophy (but have an Arrow mv bc why not)
> 
> Song I had on repeat; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a0dwEC_nmqQ - "Oliver Queen Suit in F minor & B-flat minor (Theme) by Jorah the Andal

A phone buzzing wakes Oliver up. It buzzes again, muffled like it’s in someone’s pocket and then the bed shifts under him and the warmth against his side rolls away, making him slowly blink his eyes open, burying his yawn in his pillow before turning his head and looking over where he’s sprawled out on his stomach. Slade rolls onto his back from reaching down over the side of the bed, blinking blurrily up at his phone screen. He grunts quietly after a minute and drops it back over the side. Oliver hears it land back in his duffel with a soft _thwump_.

“Joe wants to talk,” Slade reports, closing his eyes, voice quiet and sleep rough, “Your sister says your mom wants to talk to you before noon in your room.”

“What time s’it?” Oliver croaks back, barely above a whisper, shifting a little, can feel the sheets bunched up around his tailbone.

“Eight a.m.,” Slade answers, expression already smoothing out and going slack as he slips back into a doze. 

Oliver counts the hours backwards, buries another yawn in his pillow before shutting his eyes and slipping back into sleep too. Or he tries to, but the bed shifts and an arm slides across his back, pulling him sideways across the bed half a foot until his opposite side hits Slade’s chest with a soft, “ _Oof_.” He shifts his hips a bit as he gets his eyes back open, slanting a look over at Slade, who’s peeking at him through his one good eye.

“You’re warm,” is all Slade says, shifting closer and resting his mouth up against Oliver’s bicep, breath hot against his skin and stubble brushing lightly as the arm around his back tightens.

Oliver’s cheeks warm a little and he forces his eyes shut, ignorance ruined by another yawn he has to bury into the pillow he dragged with him across the bed. 

Normally five hours of sleep would work more than fine, but after fucking someone and getting fucked _by_ someone who has as much stamina as he does for almost a whole day in total? Not so much. On top of seeing his sister last night.

Oliver lets the sleep rise up and sink him back down, lulled further by the warmth pressed all along his side and Slade’s hot, steady breaths puffing rhythmic against his skin.

\--

They get up two hours later, shower separately to save time, and then Oliver gets the new clothes Slade got for him back on. They all fit, mostly. The pants are a little too big but the belt helps, which is a strange thing to wear. His League belt was wide, went around his midsection and held an assortment of things, weapons included. A regular belt by comparison feels...almost useless.

Oliver slips out first after putting some sunglasses on and flipping his hood up, squinting through them in the sunlight as he heads behind the hotel parking lot and into the city, hands in his pockets. 

Slade leaves ten minutes later after putting his own sunglasses on, locking the door behind him and slipping the room key into his pocket, fishing his car keys out. He drives to the coordinates Joe sent him, some back road that runs the length of the river that snakes through the city and out into the ocean, tires crunching over gravel behind old warehouse buildings lined with dry weeds, everything washed out and sun bleached. Slade brings his car to a stop ten feet away from where Joe’s parked and leaning back against his rental car’s hood with his arms crossed, looking uncomfortable. His expression just turns more so when Slade shuts his car off and gets out, closing the door behind him and glancing around, checking the area. It’s empty, save for some seagulls cawing a bit further up ahead.

“Why did you want to meet here?” Slade asks, stopping in front of his car.

“Because it’s private,” Joe answers, pushing up off the hood of his own and walking closer, stopping a few feet away, “The second base might be occupied and the city is too distracting.”

Slade grunts an agreement and waits, raising a brow above his sunglasses when Joe doesn’t say anything else, just looks away, down at the gravel, back, then away again. Slade’s brows draw together. “ _What?_ ” he finally demands. 

Joe’s eyes snap back up before darting away again, then back, brows drawing low together. “Mom didn’t want me to tell you,” he finally says slowly, looking reluctant as his arms cross tighter across his chest, “But I think you should know. I didn’t...tell you before because I wanted you to choose to come home on your own, not guilt you into it, but if you’re _going_ to stay, you should...know.”

Slade stills, lips pressing together before twisting down while his fingers curl, heart beating a little harder. “Joe,” he says slowly, “What is it?”

Joe takes a steadying breath, not that it helps much, and opens his mouth-

\-----

Oliver slips past the mansion guards like he did last night, lips flattening as he climbs through his old room’s windows, still unlocked. He’d be more annoyed about the lax security in both the guards and the house itself if he didn’t need to sneak in and out like a criminal. But since Thea was taken…

He clenches his jaw and closes the window quietly behind himself, brows drawn low together.

He’s going to say something to his-...mother, anyway. It’s worth making getting in and out difficult if it keeps them all safer. 

He glances around his old room, eyes catching on the photos on his old desk before forcing them away. He doesn’t see his mother any-

He stills when he hears the room door handle turn and darts for the open closet, pressing his back to the inside wall next to the doorframe just before he hears the main room door open beyond it. There’s light, quiet steps on the carpet, silence, and then the door closing quietly.

“ _Oliver…?_ ” his mother’s voice comes, hushed, almost a whisper.

Oliver takes a slow breath, closes his eyes and tries to steel himself before relaxing his shoulders back and straightening, glancing around the doorframe to make sure she’s alone before making himself walk out. His mother stills as soon as she sees him, looking a lot like how he feels: caught, unprepared.

“ _Oliver_ ,” she says on a rush of breath, softer and shoulders dropping. Her brows draw up together and she takes another breath, trying to steel herself too. “Are you _okay?_ ” she asks first, “Mr. Diggle said he thought you were unharmed, but-”

“I’m fine,” Oliver cuts her off calmly, keeping his voice down. He swallows a little and glances around to check the room again, this time more out of a need to look away than actual surveillance, heart beating harder in his chest. He makes his eyes shift back.

“You’re _sure?_ ” his mother asks, brows drawing a little lower, “Mr. Diggle said Mr. _Wilson_ took you...somewhere?”

Oliver stills. He takes a moment to think before taking a slow breath. “Yes,” he makes himself answer.

His mother’s eyes narrow a fraction. “You and Mr. Wilson-”

“ _Yes_ ,” Oliver repeats firmly, cutting her off as calmly as he can and hopefully answering what she’s really asking without...having to elaborate.

His mother straightens, standing taller while her eyes shift away, brows drawn together while she processes. Her lips pinch and she looks back after a moment while taking a couple steps closer. “Oliver-...” she trails off, then sighs quietly. She takes another step, then one more, and Oliver holds himself still while his heart hammers a bit in his chest, continues to as she reaches up and gently grips his arm, her brows drawing up a little more. That old fear tingles up his spine again, the one from his father, but then she says, “I hope you know what you’re doing,” lower, graver, not what he was expecting.

Oliver stills again, watching her back, holds her stare as long as he can before shifting his eyes away and making himself breathe through the- tightness in his chest. He forces his eyes back. “What did you want to talk about?” he asks instead of answering, trying to focus on that instead, because this can’t just be about Slade.

His mother’s expression shifts to something more...somber, conflicted and she looks off to the side, slowly, reluctantly pulling her hand away after a moment before looking back up. “Quentin is downstairs,” she says quietly, and Oliver stills again, shoulders stiffening, “He knows you’re alive, and he wants answers about Sara.” 

It’s quiet again, Oliver’s eyes drifting away while he processes that, can feel his mother searching his face. 

“ _Do_ you know what happened to Sara?” she asks, drawing his attention back.

Oliver searches her eyes while he thinks, the blue of them. They’re darker than his were, than Sara’s. Sara had the lightest blue eyes of all of them, like sunlight on water, or clear water at a beach. The kind that made you stop and stare.

“Where downstairs?” Oliver makes himself ask instead of answering again, fingers curling at his sides. His mother’s lips flatten but she turns for the door.

\--

Oliver walks silently down the first floor hall, keeping an eye and ear out. His mother said she cleared all the staff and security in the house for the next hour, and he hasn’t seen or heard any of them so far, but he still listens intently as he heads to the back of the house. It feels...strange, walking down these halls again. Nothing’s changed, the dark wood paneling, the long, rich rugs, the decorations. The paintings up are still the same ones from before the wreck, the few framed photos of their family, the professional portraits of his mother and-...father. 

He slows to a stop in front of the heavy, double doors, taking a slow breath.

He and Thea used to chase each other down this stretch of hall growing up, ignoring their mother’s chastising words to let their father work and running straight into his study, chasing each other right up to his large wooden desk. Oliver can still hear their laughter, can see his father sitting behind the old, lavish wood, looking up at them in surprise and then smiling-

Robert’s ghost shifts into his periphery, blue and khaki, and Oliver closes his eyes firmly, taking another slow, steadying breath. His father’s not hovering around him when he opens his eyes again and Oliver makes himself reach for the right door’s handle, slowly turning it and quietly pushing it open. 

His father isn’t sitting at his desk at the opposite end, there are no papers spread out across it with a laptop and a glass of iced tea. It’s just Detective Lance standing tall and wiry with his back to him over in front of the windows, almost silhouetted by the light between the two sets of full bookcases that go all the way from floor to ceiling, cane in one hand and leg shifting restlessly with his impatience.

Oliver steps in and quietly closes the door behind him, watches Lance jolt at the quiet _click_ before whipping around as best he can, brown eyes wide and black hair nearly frazzled looking, the gray at his temples new, unfamiliar. He had it last time too, but last time they were trying to get out of a collapsed building while Oliver was bleeding everywhere and had blood in one eye. It wasn’t exactly the best time for his observational skills to pick up on something so subtle, especially in all the commotion of Lance shooting him and the building coming down, then the sharp lighting of Lance’s small flashlight shining in his face while they were buried under slabs and rubble.

They watch each other for a long, silent minute, neither moving. 

His mother said Lance and the house were all scanned for devices, so it should be safe to talk, but _what_ Oliver is going to say is another matter. Sara never mentioned anything about this possibility before she left him here in the city, and before that…

“ _If something goes wrong and I don’t make it off this island…” Sara trails off, looking up into the dark shadows of the curved roof of the fuselage briefly before her eyes drop back to him, wistful and shining in the nearby firelight, “Tell my family that I died on the Gambit. Let them remember me the way that I was_.”

But that was before, before Sara became Ta-er al-Sahfer, ‘The Canary’, before she learned to live again, in her own way. Oliver doesn’t know if that’s what she still wants.

“ _Oliver Queen_ ,” Lance finally grinds out, breaking the standstill, fingers curling tighter over his cane handle. Oliver watches him and Lance snorts derisively, dark brows drawn low over angry eyes. “Aren’t you chatty.” Oliver keeps quiet, studying Lance while he thinks, watches Lance’s eyes narrow, brows drawing further together. “You’ve definitely changed.”

“You’re here about Sara,” Oliver says after a few moments, low and quiet.

“ _Yes_ ,” Lance nearly hisses, taking a step forward with it, “You _know_ what happened to her, don’t you.” Not a question. “You might be the _only one_. Much as I _hate_ to admit it, I _need you_ to find out _what._ ”

Oliver takes a slow breath, makes himself keep his eyes on Lance while he tries to figure out what angle to approach this from. If he tells Lance about Sara, it could compromise both him and her. Oliver is pretty sure Sara doesn’t want her father to know about her being alive, or else she would have told him herself when she was in the city last time, and she most likely doesn’t want him knowing about the League either, which Oliver agrees with. It’s too dangerous. But on the other hand, not telling Lance anything might backfire. The only thing that’s been keeping him quiet so far is his need for answers. 

...But on the other side of that, if Oliver tells him, then he’s served his purpose and Lance will have no more reason to keep his being alive a secret. Lance probably has his blood on record, though he hasn’t gone public with it yet, he still needs harder proof that Oliver’s alive first, but Oliver is already at risk, and so is his family by extension, unless he does something about it.

He presses his lips together.

“Did she make it off the boat?” Lance demands, cutting through the tense quiet, tired of waiting.

Oliver debates with himself another moment, brows drawn low before answering quietly, “Yes.”

Lance sucks in a sharp breath as his eyes widen and he straightens, as much as he can with his cane. He looks like he’s going to fall over for a moment and Oliver’s fingers curl at his sides. “ _She made it off the boat_ ,” Lance breathes, pulling in another, more ragged breath. He quickly looks around the room, the floor, behind him before dropping back, taking a hard seat on the cushioned bench just below the windowsill. “She was alive…” he trails off, eyes snapping back up to Oliver after a moment, “ _Is_ she alive?”

Oliver’s lips press together again, fingers curling tighter. This is the hard part. “I don’t know,” he answers slowly, honestly. It’s a white lie, not exactly a lie, not exactly the truth. He _doesn’t_ know if the daughter Lance knew is still alive, just that a version of her is, like himself. 

Lance blows out a harsh breath, brows dropping as he glares up at Oliver and pushes unsteadily back to his feet. “What do you mean you _don’t know?_ ” he demands.

“We got separated,” Oliver replies, voice harder as his own brows lower. Another white lie, but also the truth, both during the wreck and here in the city.

“Separated _where?_ ” Lance demands, “ _How? **Why?** Where is my **daughter?**_ ”

Oliver clenches his jaw and Lance limps closer, expression hard and angry again. He stops close and Oliver keeps still, holding his ground and looking up. Lance glares down at him, hard and furious.

“ _ **Where**_ -” Lance starts.

Oliver twitches a little when the burner phone Slade returned to him vibrates in his pocket and Lance cuts off while Oliver digs it out, dragging his eyes back up while he answers it.

“ _Oliver?_ ” Shado’s voice filters through, and Oliver stills, frowning a little.

“What is it?” he asks quietly, half turning a little away from Lance but keeping him in his periphery.

“ _Felicity found something you should see. It’s about Merlyn and...your mother_ ,” she says, tone grave enough to make Oliver pause, brows drawing together a little.

“I’m coming,” he answers after a moment, snapping the phone shut. It vibrates in his hand, probably with a location, but he pockets it and focuses back up on Lance. 

“That’s _convenient_ ,” Lance hisses, leaning just a little bit closer. Oliver can smell the gunpowder on him this close, the metal of his gun under his suit jacket, a hint of the soap Lance used this morning and Lance’s own scent. “I finally get you where I want you to ask about my daughter and you have to _leave_. Probably to kill more _people_.”

Oliver’s brows draw lower. “I’m not running,” he replies, low and firm, “I can’t give you all the answers you want.”

“Yeah, _can’t?_ Or _won’t?_ ” Lance demands, holding his stare.

Oliver’s lips pinch and they watch each other for a tense minute. Lance doesn’t say anything else, just keeps glaring at him like he’s the scum of the earth, and Oliver slowly turns for the door, letting the hand that grabs his shoulder whirl him back around and Lance get up in his face, keeping still.

“ _You and I aren’t finished_ ,” Lance growls out, teeth gritted, “ _Don’t think_ I’m just going to let this _go_.”

“I don’t,” Oliver replies, lips flattening. Lance huffs angrily, still glaring down at him, and Oliver turns for the door again after a moment, pausing when Lance speaks up:

“I know you’re alive,” he says, and Oliver looks back, meets the hard, angry look in Lance’s eyes, “I know your sister knows, I know your _mother_ knows. You don’t answer my questions? I make their lives as difficult as _you’ve_ made _mine_.” 

Oliver stiffens and glares back, then turns for the door a final time and slips out, heading straight down the hall. He takes a breath once he’s rounded the corner at the end and quickly darts back up the stairs and into his old room, pausing when his gaze catches on the photos on his desk again. He looks them over while he tries to slow the adrenaline flooding his system, slowly uncurling his fingers from where they've clenched into fists. He looks over Tommy’s smiling face, Laurel’s, his mother and father’s, his sister’s, chest tightening at the memories, at the...present. 

He forces his eyes away and heads for the windows, slipping out and off the property.

\--

Oliver follows the coordinates Shado sent him to an abandoned building closer to the center of the city than not, in decent condition but not in use, takes the stairs down to the basement like Shado instructed in the text and finds her and Smoak back by a computer setup near the far wall. Shado looks up first, already facing the stairs, and then Smoak turns around in her chair, brows low together and expression pinched, grave and worried, unusual enough for her to give Oliver pause. He walks closer, stopping a few feet from Shado and looking to her.

“What is it,” he says, slowly shifting his gaze from Shado to Smoak, then back again.

“I found...something. Something important,” Smoak says, low and quiet and strained, drawing his eyes back. She turns to her computers after a moment and taps at her keyboard before scooting over, taking a breath and looking back to him. “Don’t punch a hole through my monitors.”

Oliver frowns a little but steps closer, bending down to read-

‘ _Unidac Industries purchased by Queen Consolidated’_

_‘Unidac Industries Earthquake Prototype’_

_‘Private transfer to-_ ’

Oliver stares, insides freezing over and breath stilling in his chest.

‘ _Private transfer to Merlyn Global_ ’

The earthquake was…

_“I need to take care of Merlyn,” he says quietly._

_“Oliver, that’s not-...he’s **dangerous** ,” his mother says firmly._

_“So am I,” he replies, voice and eyes going hard again_

_His mother swallows a little. “Even so, Malcolm is capable of-...terrible things. And it’s not just you I’m worried about, but **Thea** -”_

_She...knew_ , Oliver thinks distantly, his mother knew about...She warned him about Malcolm and the things he could do, and if what Oliver is reading is accurate, then _Malcolm_ was the one who caused- His mother knew about--

His fingers curl so tight he vaguely feels his blunt nails digging into his palms, just shy of breaking skin.

“Oliver,” Shado says quietly, piercing through the growing static in his head just enough for him to slowly drag his eyes over. Her dark brows are drawn together, dark eyes firm but worried. “If what this says is true, then your mother and Malcolm were the ones who...destroyed the city.”

Oliver stares at her, static in his head rising and falling with the implications, with the- _pieces_. They all line up now, all of them. His mother knew about Malcolm, knew about the earthquake, knew about the _machine_ that would apparently cause it, _gave_ it to him, this whole time, has been involved since- 

_The Gambit_ , he realizes, eyes widening a fraction further as it sinks in. She kept the wreckage, had it moved and stored in secret and then held onto it for over two years. She wouldn’t have done that unless the Gambit was something she could use, had evidence that it was...sabotaged? By whoever she was worried about, that she thought had sent Slade after her, and that person was- 

_Malcolm_. It had to be Malcolm, the person his mother has been afraid of. They’ve been planning this for five years. And his father-

“ _Survive. Right my wrongs._ ”

Was this...it? Was Malcolm, the earthquake, was that-...?

Oliver’s eyes snap over when a hand touches his shoulder. Shado’s brows draw further together and she slowly tightens her grip. Oliver pulls in a ragged breath past the vast, empty void filling his chest and tries to let the touch ground him, squeezing his eyes shut against the tide trying to well up with the static and take him- _away_. He can’t lose it here, he _**won’t**_. He _won’t_ put Shado and Smoak at risk.

Arms slowly wrap around him and Oliver sucks in another breath, holds it while Shado turns him away from the computers, hands tight, trembling fists at his sides.

“ _Breathe_ ,” Shado says, low and calm next to his ear. Oliver sucks in a breath, shaky and stuttery. A hand comes up to cradle the back of his head over his hood. “Remember what my father taught you. Just _breathe_. You are not alone, Oliver. We’re _here_. You don’t need to handle this alone, you’re _not_ handling this alone. _Breathe_.”

Oliver makes himself pull in another breath, and another while he struggles through the tide, tries to breathe through the rollercoaster of emotions in his chest, the rise and fall, the spikes and floods. It’s not as bad as when Waller had him, but it’s close enough that he doesn’t- he doesn’t feel like Smoak and Shado are safe.

He goes to pull back but Shado tightens her grip, not hard, just a gentle squeeze, but it’s enough to keep him still. He doesn’t feel caged, but he feels- tethered, almost, in some way, but still at risk of flying away on the wind.

“He killed him,” Oliver says distantly, hollowly, dragging his eyes open and staring sightlessly over Shado’s dark head, “He killed my father.” Shado’s arms tighten around him again and Oliver pulls in another ragged breath, backs of his eyes stinging while his blunt nails dig into his palms. “He killed-...my...He stranded me on- He-”

Oliver stares sightlessly for a minute while the information tries to sink in, all of it, _everything_ , and then his knees buckle. Shado doesn’t let go, follows him right down to the floor as he collapses under the heavy weight of it all, of- five years. _Five years_ of choices that all stemmed from that _one point_ , that one event that changed _everything_ , for _all_ of them. It was all-

“ _ **Malcolm**_ ,” Oliver growls, low and ragged through his tight throat and gritted teeth. His palms feel slick, can smell blood on the air as wet warmth slips around his fingers.

“ _Breathe_ ,” Shado repeats, calm and firm, “Slower.”

Oliver’s attention snaps back, realizes his chest is heaving like he’s run too far, didn’t even notice his breathing pick up. He sucks in a wild breath and struggles to hold it, eyes still unfocused, seeing and not. He sees the basement around them, the off-white walls, the piping, sees Shado’s dark hair next to his face, but at the same time can’t stay focused on any of it, just keeps- everything blurs, goes fuzzy, focuses, unfocuses, vision spotting black around the edges. _He **can’t**_ -

“Breathe with me,” Shado instructs, pressing them tighter together so Oliver can feel her chest against his. It expands and he pulls in a ragged breath, it retracts and he lets it out in a shaky rush. She does it again and he tries to follow through the white noise in his head and the tight pressure in his chest, repeats it again, and again, and again, over and over and over. 

He isn’t sure for how long, isn’t sure how long they kneel there on the floor, Shado’s small frame trying to hold him together while his palms bleed to the basement, but eventually the noise in his head starts to become more manageable, his breathing less stuttery as the tightness in his chest recedes a little, his fingers slowly uncurling enough that his blunt nails aren’t digging into his palms anymore.

“Breathe,” Shado repeats quietly, almost a whisper next to his ear, and Oliver’s eyes squeeze shut on a shudder as her breath ghosts across it, leaning a little heavier against her. She takes his weight, gently pulls his hood down and strokes a hand down the back of his ponytail, making him shudder again at the contact, giving him something to focus on. “Just keep breathing,” she instructs, and he- _tries_. The force of it all slowly compounds in the center of his chest like a black hole, the need to- tear, destroy _something. Destroy **Malcolm**_. Oliver grits his teeth against it and tries to push the feeling aside, the recoil.

“I need to go,” he forces out roughly, “I need-”

“Don’t go after him,” Shado cuts him off, firm yet gentle, squeezing him a bit tighter, “Not right now. You’ll only hurt other people and yourself, and that will help no one.”

Oliver drops his head a little, rests his chin on Shado’s narrow shoulder and tries to keep breathing, focus on the feeling of her arms around him, the hand stroking over his hair, her earthy scent, his breaths still harsh. It’s not as fast as it was earlier, at least, but it’s still a struggle to keep it that way.

All this time, he thought his father dying was _his fault_. It _still_ is, but it’s not-...it’s not _just_ his fault. He thought...

A while goes by, he’s not sure how long, but eventually Smoak clears her throat quietly and Oliver’s eyes drag open and over, head turning a little. Smoak swallows when their eyes meet, holding out a-

Oliver stares dumbly at the little package of tissues for a long moment before slowly lifting his arm. It feels so heavy. He hesitates, then slowly takes the package, pulling back a little. Shado lets him go but stays close, reaching down to tug a few tissues out of the package before reaching up and gently wiping at the tears Oliver didn’t realize were on his face. He swallows, keeping his eyes down, pulling out a few himself to try and- clean his hands, the wounds already sealing over.

It’s quiet for a few minutes. Shado helps him get cleaned up and shoves the used tissues into an outer pocket on her bag nearby to get rid of elsewhere. Oliver keeps his eyes on the basement floor between their knees, still seeing it, not seeing it.

“I need to kill him,” he says eventually, quiet and hollow and rough.

“I know,” Shado replies, just as quiet. Oliver’s eyes shift up and her brown ones hold his stare, _understanding_. She does know, maybe her more than anyone. She reaches up and cups his cheek gently and Oliver lets his eyes close after a minute, tries to let the gentleness of the touch gentle the- rage in him. It’s calmed down enough that he can think, isn’t on the verge of snapping, falling right over a steep cliff, but there’s still a storm in him that needs to be let loose- _somewhere_.

 _ **On Malcolm**_ , he thinks, a growl in his own head, eyes opening to glare furiously down at the floor.

Shado’s thumb rubbing his cheek draws his attention back, eyes shifting up.

“You will,” she reassures him, calm and sure, “But not yet. There’s still more we need to do.”

Oliver forces himself to swallow past the emotions in his chest, forces himself to try and focus. He can do this, he can. It’s been five years, he can _wait a little longer_.

\-----

Thea stares up at her ceiling for another minute, brows drawn together in thought. She slowly forces herself up, wincing a little at the dull pain that goes through her hands, and throws her sheets off as she turns, slowly, gingerly setting her feet on the floor. Everything still hurts, but it’s mostly the burns on the undersides of her arms. The puncture wounds are fine if she doesn’t use her hands or feet too much, but the burns just...hurt, all the time.

She reaches over for the open Ibuprofen bottle on her nightstand and shakes two out, swallowing them dry before pushing herself up, slowly shuffling over to her desk and lowering herself down with a sigh before pushing her laptop lid open. She slowly types in ‘ _self defense_ ’ and looks at the video results that pop up, the link to a website for a place in the city. Her brows draw together again while she thinks it over and then she shakes her head, staring at the results again.

What A.R.G.U.S. did is still seared into her mind. She can still feel the chair at her back, the electricity, the heat, the spikes, see Ollie in the opposite room trying to tear out of his restraints like a wild animal, hair flying every which way, can still hear the screams of the men and women dying, the-... _sounds_ , see the _blood_ covering her brother, drying down his mouth and over his chin, down his neck- 

She closes her eyes on a shudder, forcing them open again.

It’s been hard to sleep. When Ollie stayed last night she slept better, but she can’t count on him to be here every night to do that, and she doesn’t want him to, even if the child part of her does want her big brother around to chase away the bad things in her head, regardless of the fact that he’s part of the reason they’re there at all. Maybe…

She shakes her head, lowering to the back of her chair and letting her weight tilt it backwards, looking up at the ceiling again.

She can’t ask Ollie to teach her how to fight, not after...what happened. She won’t ask Wilson, either, that’s just...no. She needs someone else. Diggle, maybe? 

She frowns in thought, brows drawing up a little together.

He probably wouldn’t agree to it. That just leaves…

She sits back up and slowly gets to her feet, shuffling back over to her nightstand and taking a seat on her bed, grabbing her phone. She traded numbers with Felicity when they spoke, maybe she can get Joe’s number without having to ask her brother or his father.

\-----

Oliver sits with his head in his hands, knees pulled up. He left the second base after an hour of trying to calm down, going over what they know about...his mother, his father, _Malcolm_. He needed...space, air, found and destroyed an out of use factory up near the water before wandering back here, tore up the crates, threw them across the room, pulled out piping and railing and screamed. Even now that he’s calmed down some, everything’s still trying to chase itself around in his head.

His mother knew, for _five years_ she knew about-... _all of this_. About Malcolm, his father, the boat, the earthquake. She helped Malcolm destroy the Glades, didn’t try to stop it. His father had to have known. All of the people in the book his father gave him are corrupt, just like Malcolm, minus Malcolm’s past League training.

Oliver tightens his fingers in his hair, shoulders tensing further.

Malcolm must have killed his father because his father wanted to stop, which is what his father was trying to tell him before he shot himself. But what Oliver, Shado, and Smoak couldn’t figure out was if his mother _knew_. If the whole time she-

 _ **No**_ , Oliver thinks firmly, taking a slow breath. No. There must have been something in the wreckage, some sign that something wasn’t right and that’s why she kept it, as leverage to try and use against Malcolm, except she never did, because- 

“ _And it’s not just you I’m worried about, but **Thea**. She’s not capable of defending herself like you can. **We need** to protect her_.”

...Because she was trying to protect Thea, and probably Walter.

Oliver’s fingers curl tighter and he takes a slow breath, forcing them to relax.

 _Malcolm_ is the one who wanted the Glades destroyed, because…

 _His wife,_ Oliver thinks, cracking his eyes open. Smoak had pulled it up. Rebecca Merlyn used to have a clinic in the Glades, and then she was shot and killed there, shortly before Malcolm left for two years, to presumably go to the League.

Oliver lifts his head a little, staring hard down at the roof cement. 

It was all revenge, and his father just... _got in the way_.

Oliver grits his teeth, lowering his hands, fingers curling tight while his heart beats harder in his chest.

...If it was him, if Slade died because of someone, Oliver would-

He swallows.

He would kill just about anyone who got in his way of avenging that. If his father got in the way of Malcolm’s plans, wanted to stop him, _fix_ things, then Malcolm...

Oliver squeezes his eyes shut and gives his head a hard shake, fists curling tighter.

His mother couldn’t have fought Malcolm even if she’d wanted to, Oliver knows that, Malcolm is League. His mother might not know that, but after what happened to him and his father with the Gambit, she wouldn’t…she didn’t risk the same thing happening to Thea.

Oliver drags his eyes up, looking out at the city, at the ruins of the Glades, one long, sunken shadow in the dark gray sea of rubble.

He has no right to judge his mother for the Glades, not after the lives he’s taken, the body count he has on his hands _alone_ , the things he’s done. He can’t- he can’t judge her, but-...

He grits his teeth.

She’s his _mother_ , she was never- She was _never_ supposed to have been involved in _anything_ like this, _either_ of his parents. They’re not- they’re not _supposed_ to be- They’re supposed to be _**better**_.

 _It’s just like Ra’s said_ , Oliver thinks, squeezing his eyes shut. “Nothing is ever what it seems,” he whispers to himself, gritting his teeth again, “ _Nothing-_ …” His throat goes tight and the backs of his eyes sting and he clenches his jaw, grits his teeth harder on the... _ **anger**_ ,the...sadness and disappointment. 

It’s all a lie, all of it: his father, his mother. The only ones who aren’t are Thea and _maybe_ Walter. Thea could never kill that many people without flinching, she could never do something like that, Oliver knows it, even after all this. He can’t-...that’s not something he can believe, no matter what Ra’s taught him about the world, no matter what his mother and father have proved true about it. His sister wasn’t involved in this, which means...

 _She doesn’t know_ , he thinks hollowly, distantly, she doesn’t know what their mother was involved in, what her and Malcolm, their father did. Thea doesn’t know, just like he didn’t.

Oliver sits for another hour, tries to listen to Slade for once and just... _stopthinking_. He absorbs what he’s learned, lets the facts sink down into him like everything else, and eventually the pressure mounting in his chest again slowly...eases, doesn’t lighten, but it becomes easier to breathe, to process. He has answers he didn’t know he needed, along with ones he’d _always_ needed, and somehow...none of it really changes how he feels. He still- loves his mother, his sister, his...father, it’s all just...more layered now, in death, destruction, in the cruel irony of the world Ra’s warned him about four years ago. Some part of him, all this time, he realizes, thought his family was exempt from that. How could they be involved in anything like what the League tries to prevent? The catastrophes, the death. They couldn’t, not to him, not then. He didn’t…

Oliver closes his eyes firmly and takes a slow breath.

He’s still so naive, even now.

He lets that thought settle for a minute, then huffs a quiet, derisive breath at himself, opening his eyes again and glaring down as he pulls his knees up tighter. He crosses his forearms on the tops and rests his mouth against them, shifting his eyes up to glare out at the damage of the city.

Slade would laugh at him if he were here.

Oliver thinks about digging his burner phone out and texting him, then lets the idea go on the gentle summer breeze, so...normal, in the middle of all the chaos. He still needs to be alone, still needs the quiet. Even if Slade didn’t talk, his presence would be too much of a weight right now for Oliver to bear under the rest of everything else.

He just...sits in the quiet for another hour, then another, eventually lets his eyes close against the setting sun and just...exists, feels the gentle breeze across the exposed, upper half of his face, through his hair beneath his hood, listens to the cars passing below, the people talking and laughing. It feels like so much is in ruin, is so desolate, destroyed, but people still...there’s still normalcy in it all. The breeze still blows like it did before everything, he still hears people laugh below as they meet up with their friends, cars still drive by on their way to some place he’ll never know. Even through all the destruction, all the pain and death and despair, there’s still...not hope, but…

 _Perseverance_ , he thinks after a minute, the thought quiet and calm, opening his eyes again. People still persevere. Everything’s damaged and they...still keep going.

He keeps watching the city, watches the lights slowly flick on as the sun goes down, sinks below the horizon and gradually washes the world in dark. The ruin of the Glades stands out even more then, one long dark spot in a sea of surrounding lights. Oliver struggles with himself again, to not go after Malcolm, to not walk so willingly into a slaughter that will just lead to more death. Shado was right, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself if he goes right now. He needs to wait if he doesn’t want to risk other lives.

His fingers curl tight for a minute before he slowly forces them to relax again, focusing on his breathing instead of the tight curl of rage in his chest.

Shado is right. She usually is.

After another while, when the sky has been black for some time and the stars are barely visible from all the city lights, he hears a faint scuffing sound from the opposite end of the roof and his eyes snap up while he tenses, stilling when he sees-

“Hi, Ollie,” Sara says, eyes smiling a little above her half mask.

“ _Sara_ ,” Oliver breathes, sitting up straighter, name shoved out of him like a punch to the chest.

Sara’s eyes smile further and she slowly walks over, the two of them studying each other. She comes to a stop a few feet away and tilts her head a little, watching him. He sees her brows draw down together a little, but she doesn’t ask him what’s wrong, doesn’t say anything, just slowly steps closer and takes a seat down next to him a couple feet away, his eyes never leaving her.

“You’re- Is Ra’s-” Oliver forces out, voice a little rough.

“No,” she cuts him off calmly, “I’m...here to check on my family. I heard about the earthquake. I was on a mission in Cambodia.” 

Oliver can just see the dark color under her eyes, barely peeking above her mask. She must have come straight here. His chest gives a squeeze at the mention of the earthquake and he forces the thoughts away, all of them, trying to focus on this instead while his fingers curl. “They’re fine,” he says, clearing his throat quietly and ignoring the look she gives him when it comes out a little rough, “Laurel is trying to hunt me. I saw your father earlier. He knows I’m alive.” He’s not sure about Sara’s mother, but from what he’s seen, she’s not here.

Sara stiffens next to him. She’s quiet for a minute, then, “...What did you tell him?” she asks quieter. 

Oliver lets out a slow breath. “As little as I could,” he answers quietly, dragging his eyes back over.

Sara nods, finally dragging her own eyes away, staring out at the city. “I don’t want him to know,” she says softer, looking back after a minute, brows drawn together, “It’s too dangerous. I’m sorry if that makes things difficult for you, and I’m sorry about...Laurel.”

Oliver lets out another slow breath and nods, lets her decision solidify some of his plans regarding her father. It’s one less thing for him to worry about, even if it’s still something to worry about. He’ll handle it, like...the people of the Glades have to handle their situations. Just because he has the mirakuru, is an assassin, is _tied_ to what happened to them, doesn’t make him any different in that regard. They all have to keep going, in some way or another. Thinking about it like that...lessens more of the tension in his chest, not much, but it’s something.

Sara looks back out at the city for another minute, the quiet settling between them, before her gaze shifts back and she studies him. “You seem…different,” she says, “More...you.”

“I hate it,” Oliver replies, a near-whisper, sitting back against the brick and closing his eyes firmly, “ _Feeling_. There’s so much-...It’s...”

“Hard,” she finishes for him. He drags his eyes open and looks over, can see her eyes smiling again. She finally reaches up and tugs her mask down below her chin, lips curved up a little even as her brows draw together. “Living isn’t easy.”

Oliver watches her back for a moment and then looks away.

They’re quiet again for a few minutes, and then he hears her shift, drawing his gaze back. She pulls the bow and quiver from over her shoulder and unhooks the sheathed sword from her belt, setting them down on the roof between them. “I saw some of the reports,” she says, “Thought you might be missing these.”

Oliver drops his eyes to them, reaches over and rests his hand on the bow, fingertips brushing the quiver below it. He curls his fingers around the metal.

“I thought about bringing you another uniform, but if anyone recognizes it…” Sara trails off.

Oliver nods, focusing on the feel of the bow in his hand. Nyssa told him not to draw attention to the League. It’s probably for the best his uniform got lost in the warehouse rubble when the Glades- were destroyed.

He takes a breath, letting that settle again like all the rubble. He frowns a little when something occurs to him, looking back over. “Have you heard of Al Sa-her?” he asks.

Sara looks back, frowning a little. “Once,” she answers, “Nyssa told me a story of a man who came to the League years ago. She called him ‘The Magician’. It became his name. Why?”

Oliver’s lips press together and he looks back down at the weapons. “He’s Malcolm Merlyn,” he answers.

“ _What?_ ” Sara asks sharper, and Oliver looks back, sees her wide blue eyes search his face while she processes that, “ _Tommy’s father_ is _League?_ ”

“Was,” Oliver corrects, brows drawing together a little again, “I think Ra’s...let him go. He’s been here too long, like I have.” He hesitates, isn’t sure if he should tell her the rest. If he does, it may incite the League to come sooner, so he...presses his lips together and keeps quiet about the Glades. Malcolm violated League law by destroying the city, taking that many innocent lives without sanction. Released or not, he’s a wanted man now, like Oliver is, and the League will come for him if they figure it out.

“That’s…” Sara trails off, drawing Oliver out of his thoughts. Her eyes drop while she absorbs the information, then she looks back up after a minute. “Does he know about you?” Oliver nods and her lips flatten. “What happened?”

“He thought Ra’s sent me,” Oliver answers. Sara frowns a little and Oliver takes a breath, looking away.

“What are you going to do?” Sara asks after a beat.

Oliver blows a slow breath out, shaking his head a little. He doesn’t answer and the quiet between them grows tense. He ignores it, tightening his grip on the bow.

“Speaking of Ra’s,” Sara starts after a bit, changing the subject when she realizes Oliver isn’t going to answer. His eyes snap back and her brows lower. “Nyssa told him you failed your trial, but...what’s worrying is he didn’t order any of us to come after you. He said to leave you alone for the time being.”

Oliver stills, staring at her. 

Sara’s expression tightens and she nods once. “He’s planning something, but even Nyssa can’t find out what it is. Be careful, Ollie. He hasn’t mobilized the League for you, it’s been quiet, but that doesn’t mean something’s not coming.”

Oliver holds her stare another moment, processing, before forcing his eyes away. If Ra’s knows he’s alive, then _why_ hasn’t he sent someone? That doesn’t make sense.

His brows furrow while he tries to puzzle it out, then Sara gets to her feet after a few minutes, drawing his attention back. She smiles down at him, small and a little pinched, but sincere.

“I know it’s bad timing, and I know there’s something going on with you that you’re not saying, but I am glad to see you so...more human,” she finishes softer, eyes warming with it.

That warmth hits him right in the chest and Oliver clenches his jaw a little. He forces himself to his feet while grabbing the weapons so he has an excuse to look away for a moment to try and steady himself. “Thank you, for these,” he says quietly, lifting the bow and quiver a little before shouldering them, tightening his grip on the sheathed sword. 

Sara nods, smiling a little more. “Sorry I couldn’t bring you more arrows. You’ll have to work that out on your own.”

Oliver nods and she smiles just that much more, stepping close after a moment and pulling him into a hug. He returns it easier this time compared to last time, resting his chin on her shoulder. It’s good to see her, even with...everything going on, maybe especially because of it. She pulls away after a minute and he lets her go, watches her pull her mask back up before she heads for the opposite end of the roof and disappears over the side with a last look at him. Oliver takes a slow breath, a headache starting to form as he thinks over... _everything_.

His mother.

The Gambit.

Ra’s.

The League.

 _Malcolm_.

Oliver’s teeth grit and he makes himself take a slow breath while his grip tightens on the sword again.

 _Not yet_ , he thinks firmly, makes himself take another breath, brows drawn low together while he glares over the city, the rubble of the Glades. If he goes now he’ll just...snap again, and Slade wouldn’t be there to help. He needs…

Oliver digs his burner phone out of his pocket and sends Slade a text, waits a minute and frowns a little when he still hasn’t gotten one back. He sends another, waits five minutes, then sends one to Smoak while he tries to keep the worry down. Just because Sara is in the city doesn’t mean the rest of the League followed her. Besides, Slade said Joe wanted to talk. Maybe they’re still...talking. 

Smoak sends a location back after a minute and Oliver pulls it up on a map, hooks the sword into his belt loop before tying the bandana back over the lower half of his face, then runs for the edge of the roof, jumping to the next and sprinting for the one after it.

He runs for ten minutes, starts to hear music slowly get louder and louder as he approaches Slade’s destination. Oliver lands on another roof and finds Slade camped out at the other end, overlooking some concert in a half dome arena ahead, music loud with flashing, colored lights streaking up into the night, near blinding down below. Oliver slows as he approaches Slade’s silhouette perched near the edge, one of Slade’s knees drawn up and one hand braced on the roof, the other resting on the thigh of his crossed leg. Oliver makes his boots scuff a little along the cement so Slade can hear him approaching, slowly takes a seat on his left so Slade can see him, crossing his legs. Slade’s not wearing his mask, so Oliver tugs his bandana down, follows Slade’s gaze and looks ahead at the concert, watches the colored lights flash and whirl while the crowd cheers, screaming and jumping with neon glow sticks in their raised hands. It’s far enough away that it’s not all too painful to listen to, but it’s definitely...distracting, which is probably the point.

Oliver lets it distract him too, closes his eyes after a minute and just...listens, brows drawn together, listens to the cheering, the screaming, the pyrotechnics going off, the music itself, the guitar and keyboard and drums and vocals. It’s loud and jarring, almost too much on his ears at the loudest parts, but it ebbs back down before it ever reaches that point, rising and falling to the beat. 

He listens through one song, two. Slade doesn’t say anything and Oliver doesn’t either, even though he can practically feel the tension in Slade from where he’s sitting, his taut shoulders and clenched jaw.

“Joe told me he has a brother,” Slade finally says after a while, out of the blue, voice low but audible enough over the concert. Oliver’s eyes open and dart over as he turns his head, lips parted a little. Slade keeps his gaze ahead, the glow of the distant lights washing across his tan skin, his clenched jaw. “I have another son.”

Oliver stares at him for a long moment before dragging his eyes forward, staring down at the concert again, heart beating harder in his chest. He closes his eyes and makes himself take a breath, makes himself take another before saying, “Malcolm sabotaged the Gambit and killed my father.”

It’s quiet between them, save for the music blasting up ahead. Oliver feels eyes on him for a moment but keeps his own forward, brows drawn together while his fingers curl tight. Then he hears Slade shift after a few moments, feels a hand grip his opposite shoulder and pull him over. Oliver lets himself tilt sideways, side of his head coming to rest against the kevlar on Slade’s shoulder. He shuts his eyes, keeps them firmly closed while his throat tightens all over again and the emotions rage through his chest, tries to ride them out and let them settle into- something _less_ again. Slade’s hand moves up, cradles the back of his hooded head and Oliver turns his face a little further into Slade’s armor, presses most of his forehead to it while he swallows, bangs slipping down to block most of the concert lights from his face.

It’s quiet for a while. Oliver listens to the music past his heartbeat, focuses on the feel of Slade’s hand on the back of his head while everything- shifts and lowers again, settles into something more manageable.

“What are you going to do?” Oliver asks after another while, keeping his voice down but audible over the music. It changes to a softer song after a minute, makes it easier, but still manages to hide most of the roughness in his voice.

He hears Slade take a slow breath, then, “I don’t know.” A pause. “What are you going to do?”

Oliver shakes his head a little, throat going tight.

It’s quiet between them again, the softer song still playing through its melody, guitar notes plucked slow, drums a slower beat, keyboard something almost orchestral. Oliver takes a slow breath with it, tries not to think. He doesn’t want to think anymore.

Slade has another son. 

It’s another thing on top of everything, but...different. Not bad, not...good? Just...different, unexpected...changes things.

“How old is he?” Oliver eventually asks, heart beating a little harder in his chest again.

He hears Slade take another breath, then, “Six, this year.”

Oliver gets his eyes open, searches the shadows between them on the dark rooftop they’re sitting on. So the person Slade last slept with was his wife, or ex-wife, something, before getting stranded on Lian Yu. He wants to ask-

Oliver presses his lips together and closes his eyes, brows drawing lower.

No. He’s not going to ask.

He focuses on the music instead, Slade’s hand on the back of his head, tries not to curl into Slade looking for shelter, more than he already has. He feels Slade take another breath and braces himself, but Slade lets it out slow, then again-

“It was a one night stand,” Slade says after a minute, calm and quiet. Oliver opens his eyes again. “Before Lian Yu. We used protection, but apparently it didn’t…”

 _Work_.

Oliver stares down at the roof again while he processes, thinks, takes his own breath and says, “You should go see him,” and means it. Slade _should_. He’s seen Joe, he knows Joe, Joe is here, but he’s never seen this other son, might not even know what he looks like. As stupid as it is, it almost feels like this is what Oliver was waiting for, something that means him and Slade won’t last. It wasn’t what he was expecting, and there’s still more he’s waiting for to go wrong, but this is...Slade was going to leave, at some point. He can’t stay here indefinitely, he was never going to, and maybe Oliver can’t either, but...this means Slade has to leave, now.

Oliver’s chest squeezes tight and he hears Slade sigh quietly, the hand on the back of his head gripping a little tighter. “I don’t know,” Slade replies.

Oliver stares at the roof another minute, searching it for an answer he already knows. He lifts his head and Slade’s hand slides down, finally turning his own to look at him. Oliver looks back, makes himself take another breath through the growing tightness in his chest. “I do,” he says, quiet and sure. Slade’s eyes narrow a little, watching him. “Slade…” Oliver trails off, has to swallow a little and steel himself, changes tracks, “What’s his name?”

Slade’s expression pinches a little, lips pressing together. “Grant,” he eventually answers as he looks away, voice quieter, gruffer.

Oliver’s lips twitch, just a fraction, but something settles in his chest with his decision, like it has with all his decisions. He knows what needs to happen. “You need to go see him,” Oliver says, quieter too, but no less sure. 

Slade looks over at him again, brows drawing lower together. “Oliver-” he starts.

“Slade,” Oliver cuts him off, calm and quiet, can feel the calm settle down into his bones through the ripples in the water, pushing the fight in him down and smothering it. He doesn’t want Slade to go, but he also wants Slade to see his son. Slade _has_ to go.

Slade stops, watching him. Oliver shifts closer, leans close and reaches up, grips Slade’s jaw and kisses him, feels Slade’s breath shudder out his nose a little against his upper lip. Oliver lets the kiss linger, doesn’t want to stop, _needs_ -

He makes himself pull back a few inches after a minute, taking a breath, heart beating harder. “Go see your son,” he whispers, makes himself look at Slade even though the backs of his eyes are starting to sting, even though it feels like something deep in his chest, some deep chasm that’s made up of...everything Slade is to him, all of the things Slade’s done in his life, _for_ it, aches.

Slade’s expression shifts into something a little...unsure, maybe, one of the few times Oliver’s seen him this way. “Oliver,” Slade says quieter, looking at him.

Oliver grips Slade’s jaw tighter, can’t help it. “ _Go_ ,” he makes himself say, pulling back a little more. 

Slade’s gaze focuses, searches and watches him, then it hardens. “After-”

“Slade,” Oliver cuts him off again quietly, and Slade stops, still watching him, brows drawn together a little like he’s trying to figure something out. Oliver drags his eyes away from the look, watching the concert again. The band seems to be taking a short break between songs, crowd milling about while the stage is empty. Oliver makes himself look back over, Slade’s gaze still on him. “We could die,” he continues, “Or get arrested, or shot. Do you really want to put off seeing-...Grant?”

Slade’s brows lower, eyes dragging away. Oliver swallows and takes another breath, looking away too.

 _No. He doesn’t_ , he thinks.

Oliver forces himself to his feet after a minute and Slade’s gaze snaps back up to him. Oliver looks back down. “I’ll be here,” he says quietly, that warmth in his chest making his voice...gentler, his fingers curl a little, even while the ache in it makes all of this... _hurt_ , “If you decide to come back.”

Slade gets up and steps closer, gripping the back of Oliver’s neck and tugging him the last few inches forward to kiss him hard. Oliver tries not to lean into it but does anyway, reaching up to grip at Slade’s kevlar, the side of his neck. “I’m coming back,” Slade breathes after a minute between them, breaking the kiss. Slade presses their foreheads together and looks at him, eyes hard and sure. Oliver presses his lips together, forces the sting and his closing throat to- _stop_ , and does what Shado told him to: breathes, breathes through all of it. “I’m coming back,” Slade repeats firmer, gripping his cheek, “I promise. I already said I’m not going anywhere.”

Oliver swallows a little, grips onto Slade’s kevlar tighter and closes his eyes, just for a minute. “Okay,” he whispers past his closing throat, almost repeats it but closes his mouth instead. 

Slade kisses him again, harder than last time, backs him up until Oliver’s back hits a wall and then presses all along his front, chest to hip, grenade shells and pouches digging in through his hoodie. Oliver reaches up and grips the side of Slade’s neck and kisses him back, just keeps- kissing him, and _kissing him_ , hears the band start up to his right again and ignores it, focuses on Slade’s mouth against his, the slick warmth of his tongue sliding against his own, the hand that slides down his scarred side over his clothes and grips his hip, squeezes it tight. Oliver’s cock stirs a little and he ignores it too, tightening his own grip. Slade presses him harder to the wall, slides his gloved hand down Oliver’s jaw to his neck and grips over the scar.

Slade pulls back after a minute, breaking the kiss, and they both pant a little, quietly, foreheads pressing together again.

“I promise,” Slade whispers, both getting their eyes open and looking at each other. Oliver doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know _what_ to say, if he even wants to. He doesn’t trust anything anymore, not after what he learned today, even though with Slade and Shado it’s...different. But anyone staying, _anyone_ being true to who Oliver thinks they are, feels...as much as Oliver wants to believe him, he just- _can’t_.

Slade’s expression shifts, looks at him like he knows what he’s thinking and grips him harder, kisses him again just as hard like he’s trying to get rid of the doubt in Oliver’s head, lets it linger. Oliver makes himself pull away after a few minutes and Slade lets him go, touches lingering like the kiss had. Slade watches him as Oliver heads for the edge of the roof, and Oliver watches him back until he makes himself step over it, the last thing he sees Slade’s mismatched eyes on him before he drops out of sight and back into the dark.

 _Okay_ , Oliver thinks through the tight ache in his chest, landing in a crouch in the alley and pulling his bandana back up, focusing.

Okay.


	33. Who are you to change this world? Silly boy. Let it go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title music; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LAMiX5EEbFU - "Carnivore" by Starset
> 
> Sorry for the wait. Lots of deep stuff happening in here @_@

“ _How did you get those arrows again?_ ” Shado’s voice asks through the bluetooth in his ear.

Oliver squeezes his thighs tighter against the outside of hers as she rockets them down the highway and bends backwards on the back of the motorcycle, quickly aiming upside down and letting an arrow loose arrow at the center Triad car following them. It goes through the windshield straight through the driver’s head and the car careens off the edge of the highway into the lanes that go into the city, a few cars swerving out of its way with loud horns and swinging headlights. He quickly sits back up to cover Shado from the gunfire aimed their way by the remaining two cars, grimacing when bullets skim his shoulders and the outsides of his thighs. Shado ducks down a little more in front of him and veers the bike.

“Sara,” Oliver answers, notching another arrow and twisting at the waist to fire at the second car that tries pulling up alongside their left, shooting it into the passenger leaning out with a raised gun. He rapid fires another into the car as the body drops over the side of the door, getting the driver and watching that car careen off too. He twists and takes aim again, holding his fire at the last second as Shado veers the motorcycle left and right to dodge gunfire from the last car, then lets the arrow loose the next moment they’re still and watches it go through the windshield and the driver, the car swerving sharply right and crashing loudly into a nearby tree. Oliver watches it for a moment as they leave it in the dark and then looks back forward, giving Shado’s shoulder a tap. She slows the bike back down. They drive for ten miles and skim past a patrol car parked in the dark clocking speeds. Shado aims them for the off ramp to head back into the city.

Oliver was weapon hunting on the outskirts of Starling, trying to do something to distract himself from Slade’s absence and the persistent need to kill Malcolm, something he needed to do anyway since Waller made him discard a fair share of what he’d taken from the Bratva. But the Triad got wind of him and pursued. Shado showed up on a deep green motorcycle, must have tailed him with Smoak’s help, flipped her helmet visor up so he could see her and told him to get on, then sped them out of the city, lead the Triad out with them and minimized the damage in a way Oliver wouldn’t have thought to do. He didn’t even know she could _drive_ a motorcycle.

Shado gets them back into the city, orange and white-yellow lights streaming from overhead street lamps and slanting across them as they follow the curve of the highway back into city limits, wide lanes narrowing further and further until they’re in the city proper. Oliver unshoulders the bow and quiver and holds them down next to his leg while she steers them closer to the center, weaving smoothly around a few cars before turning off into the nearest alleyway, Oliver keeping his head low. Shado sticks to the alleys and back streets, but that’s no guarantee a camera won’t pick something up somewhere. The bike eventually slows and turns into a small lot, then Shado parks them outside the empty building of the second base, turning the bike off and dropping them in abrupt silence. Oliver climbs off the back first and then Shado follows, Oliver raising a brow a little when she turns her head and looks at him through the dark helmet visor. She pulls the helmet up and off, shaking her hair out, and raises one right back.

“It’s more familiar than the car,” is all she says, turning and leading the way into the building. Oliver follows her in and down the stairs into the basement, slowing when he hears voices and heavy grunts.

He pauses at the bottom of the stairs when he sees Joe and... _Thea_ training, brows drawing low together. He doesn’t ask what they’re doing, or why, since the answer is obvious, just focuses on checking Thea over. Her hands and arms are still wrapped, but her and Joe seem to be working on footwork and positioning more than actual contact. Joe stops and looks up from Thea to him, brows lowering challengingly when he catches Oliver watching. Thea turns to look too, both of them watching and waiting for him to say something.

Oliver takes a measured breath. “Widen your step. He’s bigger than you,” he says quietly. Thea straightens a little before nodding, lips curling up a tiny bit, and Joe huffs quietly, lips slowly turning down in a frown.

“I’m surprised my father isn’t hovering around you,” he comments.

“Yeah, I was surprised Shado was the one who picked you up during that whole...highway, getaway scene,” Smoak adds, spinning around in her chair over at her computers with a few hand gestures. Her brows slowly draw together as she looks around. “Where _is_ Wilson? He’s never this late.”

“Maybe he got caught up?” Diggle suggests, crossing his arms where he’s standing next to Smoak’s desk.

Oliver stills, heart beating harder while his chest squeezes. He makes himself breathe through it and push the feelings aside. “He has something to take care of,” he answers, heading over to his bag against the wall and crouching down, pulling the zipper open to take stock of his weapons again, just to- focus on something else, do something with his hands. He has a few more guns and knives than he did earlier, but it’s still not enough. He’ll need to go out again.

“As in...something out of town? Or…” Smoak trails off.

Oliver turns enough to look over at Joe, who stares back, then it seems to _click_ after a few moments and Joe’s eyebrows shoot up. Joe lets out a curse as he digs his phone out of his pocket, dialing a number as he darts out of the room and up the stairs, Oliver vaguely catching a, “ _Mother, I’m sorry_ -” before purposefully focusing back on his bag while everyone’s eyes follow Joe up.

“ _Oookaaay…_ ” Smoak draws out and trails off again. Oliver can feel her gaze and ignores it, zipping his bag back up. “What’s going on?”

Oliver ignores her, turning to his sister as he stands instead. “I need to speak with you. Privately,” he says, quiet and firm.

Thea’s brows draw together but she tilts her head for the stairs and Oliver moves to follow her, pausing halfway up when his phone vibrates in his pocket and pulling it out, flipping it open. He freezes as he reads over the text, heart beating faster:

‘ _Landed_ ’

It’s just one word, but it-

He swallows, debates with himself for a minute before flipping his phone shut and pocketing it, trying to focus back on what he needs to do instead of something he can’t do anything about, and...shouldn’t.

\-----

Lance blows out a sigh, forehead in his hand where he’s sitting on his old, beat up couch, the green and blue fabric worn out and frayed. It’s seen better days, like him. He stares down at the glass of scotch in his other hand while he thinks over everything, everything Queen said, everything he _didn’t_ say.

“ _Did she make it off the boat?”_

 _“Yes_.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and downs the rest of the scotch in his glass, throwing his head back with it before curling forward again, resting his forehead back in his palm.

 _She made it off the boat. **His baby made it off the boat**_. But…

“ _ **Is** she alive?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

_“What do you mean you **don’t know?** ”_

_“We got separated_.”

He gets his eyes open, glaring down at the edge of his coffee table in front of him, brows drawn low together. There’s something Queen’s not saying, he _knows_ it, saw it in the quiet, the hesitations, brief as they were, something about Sara he was avoiding saying, but _what?_ Lance can’t let himself hope that she’s still alive, he _can’t_ , but what- _what is it?_ Queen said he didn’t know if Sara was alive, but is that-

He jolts when his phone vibrates on the coffee table again and closes his eyes firmly, taking a steadying breath. He makes himself sit up and reach forward after a moment, finally picking it up and looking at the caller I.D., even though he knows what he’s going to see. Laurel’s picture is in the center of the screen with her name below it; the phone vibrates again. His thumb hovers over the ‘end’ button before he makes himself take another breath and shifts it over to ‘answer’, tapping the green and bringing his phone to his ear.

“ _Dad?_ ” Laurel’s voice comes through, worried and tinny over the line.

He clears his throat quietly. “Hey, sweetheart,” he replies, a little rough, chest squeezing tight. It’s good to hear her voice, even while it hurts at the same time, so _much_.

“ _Are you alright?_ ” she asks, “ _You sound...And you haven’t returned any of my calls or texts since yesterday_.”

“I’m fine,” he replies, clears his throat and tries to make himself sound more convincing. It hurts lying to her too, but he can’t tell her yet, not yet. He still needs more solid, concrete answers before he brings something like this up, any of it: Queen, _Sara_. It’s too important to risk throwing something out without more.

Laurel doesn’t say anything to that and he can practically feel her doubt across the line.

He swallows a little and makes himself ask, “What did you need, sweetheart?” trying to break the quiet, can’t help his voice going softer on the endearment with...everything.

“ _I got myself assigned to the vigilante cases in the D.A.’s office_ ,” Laurel answers, making Lance sit up straighter, “ _I wanted to cross check with you about some of the case details you’ve worked regarding them_.”

“You _what?_ ” he asks, staring down at his coffee table, brows slowly drawing together, “ _Laurel-_ ”

“ _I need to do everything I can to help get them off the streets_ ,” she cuts him off firmly, “ _And if I’m on the inside, then I can hopefully keep Thea out of it. She doesn’t know what she’s doing dad. She thinks she does, but she **doesn’t**_.”

Lances takes a breath, squeezing his eyes shut. “Honey-”

“ _I met Ghost’s son_ ,” Laurel cuts him off, and that makes Lance freeze, eyes snapping open as he sits up straight, “ _He showed up with Thea when I asked to talk to her. His dad is a soldier, here because of some... **debt** he thinks he owes the Queen family. All of the vigilante things he’s been doing are just a **cover** for that_.”

Lance stares down at his table, trying to process that. Some of it he knew, figured out already. He figured ‘Ghost’ was older, so him having a son isn’t too big a surprise. He’s also been following the Queens around since day one, and now he’s following _Oliver Queen_ around, Lance just couldn’t figure out _why_. But if Ghost feels he owes them some sort of debt, for whatever reason, that’d make sense, but- “Why-”

“ _An island_ ,” Laurel answers just as it all _clicks_ for him, “ _Oliver...survived the wreck and made it to an island Ghost was stranded on and something...happened there. I don’t know what. But Oliver...Dad, do you think that Sara-?_ ”

Lance sucks in a sharp breath as his chest goes _tight_ and squeezes his eyes shut, bringing up his free hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose between his eyes, gives his head a hard shake.

They’re both quiet for a minute, the silence uncomfortable. The guilt presses at Lance’s insides, tries forcing the truth up the back of his throat but he grits his teeth and gives his head another shake, forces it down.

 _ **Not yet**_.

“ _Dad…_ ” Laurel trails off quietly.

“I don’t know,” he replies, voice rough and strained, lowering his hand, “I don’t-...Let’s just focus on the vigilantes for now.” Because he can’t focus on Sara and he can’t tell Laurel about Sara, or Queen, not yet, and he can’t have Laurel asking questions he can’t answer. He doesn’t want to add more lies to the pile.

“ _Okay_ ,” Laurel says on a breath after a moment, “ _Okay_.”

Lance pauses as something about what Laurel said sinks in, brows furrowing. “His son, Ghost’s, what did he look like?”

“ _Black hair, tan skin, blue eyes. He had an accent I couldn’t quite place too. Maybe Australian?_ ” Laurel answers.

Lance digs his notebook out of his jacket pocket with his free hand and quickly sets it on the table, flipping the cover up and through the pages, trying to find-

_Queen Steel Factory_

_Male early 20’s black hair dark skin white shirt jacket slim built build_

So that kid he saw, the one that was leaving the factory, that was…

“ _Why? Do you know him?_ ” Laurel asks urgently, jolting him out of his thoughts.

“I might’ve seen him,” Lance replies as steadily as he can, “I’ve got some notes I made during a stakeout.”

“ _Where did you see him?_ ” Laurel asks next.

“The old Queen Steel Factory,” Lance answers, lips pressing together after. If Ghost’s son visited Laurel with Thea Queen, the location isn’t a stretch, and telling Laurel won’t matter much since it was destroyed in the quake.

 _God_ , that murdering bastard’s _son_ visited his _daughter_. And he really _isn’t_ a vigilante, if what Laurel said is true. He’s just a soldier turned _murderer_ out of some- _thing_ to do with _Queen_. Seems like _everyone_ that damn kid knows ends up getting hurt, or twisted, or _killed_.

Lance’s fingers curl tight.

Laurel’s quiet a moment, then, “ _That actually...makes sense. If Thea’s helping them, it would make sense. Do you think Moira is in on it?_ ”

“Maybe,” Lance answers, swallowing his anger and another round of guilt for the lie.

They’re quiet again, then, “ _Dad, there’s something going on with Malcolm Merlyn, too_ ,” Laurel says, making Lance pause and focus again.

_Malcolm Merlyn?_

“Your boyfriend’s father?” he asks incredulously, brows furrowed.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Laurel answers, “ _I don’t know what yet, but Thea asked about him and it was...strange, just enough to get my attention, and Moira sounded strange when I asked about him too. I think something’s going on besides the vigilantes, or maybe involving them. I’m going to meet with Tommy for lunch tomorrow and try asking, see if he knows anything or if he’s seen his father acting strange_.”

“Laurel, be careful,” Lance says firmly.

“ _I will_ ,” Laurel replies, hanging up after a minute after saying goodbye.

Lance makes himself hang up on his end, frowning down at his notebook with his brows still furrowed.

What does _Malcolm Merlyn_ have to do with the vigilantes? The only strange thing about him that Lance can remember was him...disappearing for two years after his wife died. It was strange then, even given the circumstances, and it’s strange now, but…

 _How is that connected to Oliver Queen and Ghost?_ Lance wonders, frowning further. _If_ it’s connected. Maybe it’s something completely different. But if Laurel said both Thea _and_ Moira Queen were acting strange about him then...maybe it isn’t?

Lance focuses back on his notebook, on the license plate number he took. He turns his phone screen back on and dials, bringing it to his ear. “Hey, I need you to run a plate for me,” he says when the line picks up.

\-----

Oliver watches Thea, who stares back, dark blue eyes wide and almost distant as she tries to process what he just told her.

“Ollie,” she finally croaks out after a minute, “That’s not-...mom couldn’t have- and _dad_ -” She cuts off and he doesn’t say anything, just presses his lips firmly together. Her dark brows draw closer and angle up as the rims of her eyes start going red. She swallows heavily and drags her eyes down and away, searching the bare floor. She looks back after a minute, still looking unsure, scared, almost, not quite one or the other but some mix of both. It makes Oliver’s chest ache, his fingers curl, seeing that look on her face, being the one to put it there. “Are you...are you _sure?_ ” Thea asks firmly, swallowing again as her brows lower, “Ollie, are you-”

Oliver nods and she cuts off again, swallowing harder. “Smoak can show you,” he says quietly, makes himself hold still under Thea’s stare while her wide eyes search his.

She's quiet again, frozen for a minute, then her eyes drag away and go redder. “This whole-...everything-...” she trails off, eyes squeezing shut as her fingers curl tight at her sides.

Oliver’s own curl too, tighten while he watches his sister struggle with all of it, like he did, keeps himself from moving closer in case that’s not what she wants. He doesn’t know, just that she might not welcome him trying to comfort her, especially since he’s the one who told her everything. He just- He doesn’t-

He swallows a little, brows drawn lower.

Her reaction confirms what he thought, at least, Thea _didn’t_ know, about any of it.

She opens her eyes after a minute, reaches up and wipes away the tears that try to slip down her cheeks. “So you’re both...mass murderers,” she says hoarsely, roughly. Oliver stills and her eyes snap back to him, then dart away, looking almost guilty. She presses her hands to her eyes for a minute and then shakes her head hard, turning and walking back down the empty hall, away from him.

Oliver’s fingers curl tighter as he watches her go, makes himself stay where he is and tries to breathe past the tightness in his chest. He knows what he is, he knew Thea knew after the A.R.G.U.S. building, but that’s the first time she ever said it to him that way.

He swallows and closes his eyes firmly, takes a slow breath and holds it, tries to ignore the budding rage at Malcolm, the confusion at his mother and father, the...it’s not a betrayal, but it is, too, by both his parents, and his own towards...Thea.

He listens to her quiet steps recede for a minute, hears Diggle’s heavier tread follow from where he’s been lurking and then opens his eyes, staring down the empty hall. He turns and heads back for the basement, pausing when he catches sight of Joe through a window outside by his rental car parked near the side of the building, one hand shoved in his pocket and the other holding his cellphone, staring down at the dark screen with a conflicted expression, both angry and worried, or somewhere in between. Joe’s eyes shift up, catch sight of Oliver and they both still, then Joe’s brows draw low and he marches straight for him, pulling the door open sharply and stopping a few feet away. Joe doesn’t say anything right away, they just watch each other for a tense, silent minute, then:

“He told you,” Joe finally says, breaking it. Oliver nods once and Joe takes a breath, looking away, brows still drawn low. “I didn’t think he’d go.”

Oliver debates with himself for a minute before saying, “I told him to.” Joe’s eyes dart back, brows furrowing as he studies him. Oliver holds still. Maybe he shouldn’t have told Slade to go, if Joe’s reaction is anything to go by, maybe Joe’s mother didn’t want Slade to, but...Slade _needed_ to go.

“Why?” Joe asks.

Oliver searches Joe’s face, the skin that matches Slade’s, the jaw, the hair color, and the eyes that don’t, the keffiyeh that Slade must have given him wrapped around his slimmer neck. Oliver remembers the island, of all things, and frowns a little, looking away. “Family is important to Slade,” he answers quietly, “He would never forgive himself if he didn’t.”

It’s quiet for a minute again.

“Is that the only reason?” Joe asks.

Oliver looks back and Joe’s still studying him, but differently this time, more intently, like he’s trying to puzzle Oliver out, the look on his face so much like Slade’s it’s almost jarring. Oliver looks away again, taking a breath and trying to push aside the...vertigo, almost, that he feels, the tightness in his chest that’s been there since Slade left. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“I mean, did you send him off for his good, or your own?” Joe demands, making Oliver’s eyes snap back. Joe glares at him a little, but mostly he still looks like he’s trying to figure it out.

Oliver takes another steadying breath and makes himself hold Joe’s stare while he thinks it over.

Slade needed to go see Grant, that much Oliver was sure of, but also…

 _ **Was** I trying to push him away?_ he thinks, lips pressing together and brows furrowing a little. Maybe...some, and with what’s coming regarding the League, Laurel and Lance trying to hunt them down, and everything Oliver learned yesterday about his own family, maybe-...

He focuses on Joe again. “Slade has you, and Grant,” he says, fingers curling at his sides, “He has-...” Oliver closes his mouth, isn’t sure what he’s trying to say exactly, just that Slade has...ties, in ways the rest of them don’t. He’s not a loner, as much as he is one, he has...kids. He’s a father, if a distant one. It doesn’t change that he has responsibilities the rest of them don’t, that he shouldn’t- be getting involved in all this.

 _He has a family,_ Oliver thinks, lips flattening, _I don’t want him involved_. He hasn’t wanted Slade involved from the start. Maybe that’s not the only reason Oliver told him to go, but...does it matter? He doesn’t want Slade here, in danger, at risk of... _losing_ the things he spent so long trying to get back to and just discovered he _has_. And if Slade’s not here, Joe has no reason to be either. Slade and his family will be safer if they’re not in Starling City. Oliver had given up on trying to get Slade to leave, but Slade learning about Grant changes things. Slade has another reason to stay away now.

Oliver swallows a little, throat going tight with the deep ache in his chest.

He doesn’t _want_ Slade gone, but it’s...better, if he is. He’d rather Slade be alive and far away, than here and possibly dead.

Joe glares at him harder, taking a few steps closer and drawing Oliver out of his thoughts as he lowers his voice, “My father came all the way _here_ after being trapped on that damn island for _five years_ , barely stayed home long enough to see _me_ before he was running off to play vigilante here in _your memory_. He did that for _you_. I might hate you,” Joe continues, dark brows drawn low, “But to him, _you’re_ family too.”

Oliver’s heart stills for a beat while he stares, eyes widening a bit. Joe keeps glowering at him, hard and angry.

“If you throw everything he’s done for you away out of some misguided attempt to ‘ _save him_ ’, I will kill you myself,” Joe continues low, “I don’t care _who_ you are to him. _Anyone_ who hurts someone who’s gone to _those lengths_ for them, the lengths my _father_ has for _you_ on that _damn island_ and _here_ , doesn’t deserve that effort in the first place. _He_ doesn’t deserve that.”

Oliver stills again, staring back, can’t look away even if he wants to, and Joe holds his stare before finally dragging his eyes away after a long moment, taking a measured breath before looking back.

“It’s _easy_ to push people away,” he says, “It’s even harder to hold onto them.” Joe’s expression shifts, just a little, goes somber in a way that’s older than his twenty years, and Oliver drags his eyes away, trying to breathe through- that, on top of everything else. He feels Joe watch him another moment before leaning back, stepping away and out of his space, drawing Oliver’s eyes back. Joe turns to head down the hall, pausing to throw Oliver a defiant glare over his shoulder. “And I’m still training Thea,” he says, eyes narrowing a little, the ‘ _just because I hate you_ ’ going unsaid.

Oliver swallows a little, focuses past replaying Joe’s words over in his head. “I can’t train her,” he says, making Joe pause. Oliver’s brows lower a little while his fingers curl. “I only know how to kill. I won’t teach her that.”

Joe watches him a moment more before snorting quietly and turning back around, as unimpressed as ever as he continues down the hall. He doesn’t say anything, no passing remark, no snide comment, just turns at the next hall and disappears while Oliver plays his words over again:

“ _I might hate you, but to him, **you’re** family too_.”

He pulls in a breath, forcing himself out of those thoughts, ignoring the way the backs of his eyes start to sting and his throat starts going tight. He drags his gaze over and looks out the grimy window, brows drawing together while his chest _aches_.

“ _It’s easy to push people away_.”

 _No, it’s not_ , Oliver thinks quietly. He digs his burner phone out after a minute and pauses before flipping it open, opening the text messages between him and Slade and reading over the last few. He hesitates again for a long minute, debates with himself, struggles between- trying to push Slade away and not, and-

He closes his eyes firmly for a minute, then opens them and taps out:

‘ _Ok_ ’

And sends it. He freezes when he gets a reply barely thirty seconds later, fingers curling tighter around the phone as it vibrates in his hand.

‘ _Call?_ ’

Oliver’s vision blurs a little and he swallows, squeezes his eyes shut and flips the phone closed to save the battery, thinking it over.

He needs to find a charger first.

He pockets the phone and wipes at his face with his palms, takes a steadying breath, then turns and continues to the basement. Smoak will know what charger he needs.

\--

Thea rubs at her eyes again, sniffing quietly. She hears steps and glances over, turning away more towards the window in the empty office when she finds Joe walking through the doorway. She hears him sigh and looks over again, watches him cross his arms and lean his shoulder against the other side of the window frame. He’s still wearing a jacket, heavier than any she’s even looked at in months.

“You brother’s a pain in the ass,” he says, quiet and light, almost, but there’s tension beneath it.

Thea scoffs quietly, rubbing at her eyes again with her fingers. “My _family’s_ really something,” she replies, hears him snort quiet and faint and manages to twitch her lips.

“Killing runs in my family,” he says after a minute, making Thea still and drawing her eyes back. Joe keeps looking out the window, the distant light from the street lamps slanting dim across the lower half of his face through the grime on the glass. “The only difference between us is I was aware of it sooner,” he finishes, looking back.

Thea stiffens and drags her eyes away, then sighs quietly after a minute. “How do you deal with it? How do I deal with- my _mother_ killing over a _thousand people_ in the Glades? I can’t even-... _process_ that amount. And my _father_ nearly doing the same thing? My brother-” she cuts herself off, swallowing when she remembers him covered in blood, can still see it drying down his chin and around his mouth like he- tore _into_ someone with his _teeth_ -

She closes her eyes firmly on a shudder, brows drawn together. She’ll never forget the way he looked, staring down at her like he didn’t really see her, green eyes glowing a little, eerie in the dark of the room, like he wasn’t human, hair hanging every which way and clothes torn, wrists bleeding. It was like he didn’t even _feel_ it, wasn’t in his head, was just- _gone_ , someone _else, something_ else. She expected her brother to be changed, different, even damaged, and he _is_ , but she didn’t...expect _that_.

“Are you scared of him?” Joe asks after a little bit, voice quiet but almost loud in the silence of the room, enough to make Thea jolt a little, eyes widening as they dart over.

“What?” she asks, trying to process the question.

“Are you scared of your brother?” Joe repeats, brows furrowed low.

Thea drags her eyes back to the window, looking out at the alley, the building across the wide street and the huge metal dumpster a little further down. She thinks it over and swallows.

“...A little,” she answers after a minute, quiet and honest, “But mostly...he’s just...I don’t _know_ him like this. He’s still my big brother, I still see who he was in there, there’s just... _other things_ , things I don’t know.” She takes a breath and looks back over, meets Joe’s eyes still watching her. “I still love him,” Thea says, firm and clear, “There’s just…” She looks back out the window again. “There’s just parts of him I don’t...know, or understand, ones I might _never_ understand.”

 _Like mom and dad_ , she realizes, lips flattening. She thought she _knew_ her family, but maybe...maybe she never really did.

“But my mom still-...she still killed all those people, and Ollie, he killed all those A.R.G.U.S. people just to get to me,” she adds quieter after a minute, almost a whisper, hunching her shoulders a bit and gripping her arms, holding in a wince when she squeezes the bandages too tight. She forgot to put her light jacket back on. “I don’t know how to live with that, with them _doing_ that.”

It’s quiet for a minute, not loud, not tense, just...quiet.

“Are you scared of your dad?” she eventually asks, looking back over.

Joe looks out the window, brows drawing low together a little. “My father hasn’t changed much since I’ve known him,” he starts quietly, “He’s always worked for A.S.I.S., since before I was born, but when he came back from being stranded on the island...he was different, quieter, more somber. I didn’t understand why at the time, I just...know I didn’t like how it made me feel, seeing him so different from the way I’d always known him, even if I didn’t like the way he was before. And then finding out about that serum he has, like your brother...” Joe’s eyes go distant for a minute before he looks back at her, then shrugs a little. “No, I don’t think I’m afraid of him. He’s still my father, just...different. People change, sometimes for the better, sometimes worse, sometimes both, but you and I aren’t the same people we were before either, are we?”

Thea pauses, looking out the window again while her brows draw together in thought.

Her brother is like that too, quieter and somber, like Joe says Wilson was, is. He’s more...controlled, thoughtful. It’s honestly jarring, thinking of the way he used to be versus the way he is now. He used to be so carefree, smiled and laughed the easiest of anyone she’d ever known. Now, she’s seen him smile once since he’s been back, and it was small, barely anything, like he didn’t really know how to do it anymore. That and...what he did to all those people, what he’s _still_ doing.

Her heart squeezes in her chest and she swallows a little past her tight throat. “Us being different isn’t the same as them being different,” she finally says quietly.

Joe’s silent for a minute before asking, “No, but would you do the same for him?” drawing Thea out of her thoughts again. She looks over and Joe tilts his head a little, black bangs shifting, almost like ink in the shadows, they’re so dark. “Would you do what you had to to keep your brother safe? Your mother?”

Thea’s brows draw together again.

_Would she? **Could** she?_

She drops her eyes to the dusty windowsill, thinking it over. She tries to imagine their positions reversed, Malcolm threatening to hurt her mother, her father, her brother, Ollie in the chair she was in, getting electrocuted and screaming. It makes her shoulders hunch further, her jaw tighten.

And then she remembers the funerals for her brother and father, the way her mother cried like Thea had never seen or heard her, the exhaustion haunting her mother now like her mother’s been haunting their house hallways, the dark color under her eyes. She remembers the tattoo down her brother’s back and the brand at the end of it, the scars littered across his body, the way he doesn’t smile, doesn’t laugh, the way he fights and kills like _that’s_ what he was born for and nothing else, and it both- _breaks her heart_ while also making her so- _so_ -

Her fingers curl tight, pain in her palms easy to ignore through the _anger_ , anger at _Malcolm_ for what he’s done, anger at the things that did that to her _brother_ , the _people_ that turned him into- the way he is now. It’s... _terrifying_ , to learn that her mother, her father, her brother are all people she didn’t really understand like she thought she did, doesn’t really _know_ like she thought she did, but...it still _hurts_ , thinking of the things they’ve had to go through, what’s... _made_ them the way they are, the things she didn’t see.

Ollie said he chose to join that League place, and her mother made the decision to not tell any of them what was going on, to ask for help, but between that and seeing what they’ve become, the way her mother looks tired all the time now, like she’s one wrong move away from falling apart, the way her brother is so broken he’s not human in some ways, maybe...somewhere between those two points is the truth. That they had choices, but that they also didn’t. Like Thea had a choice. She could have told Laurel everything, and Laurel could’ve told her father, but then they’d have arrested her mother and her brother. They both deserve to face consequences for what they’ve done, but…

She thinks of the way her mother looked this morning, worn down and weary and trying to hold her head up high. She thinks of her brother laying on Diggle’s couch, wounded and unconscious and covered in scars.

Maybe they already have.

She looks over at Joe again after a few minutes, brows low and jaw clenched. His lips twitch up a little. She doesn’t need to say anything.

“That’s all it really comes down to,” Joe says, taking a breath as he looks out the window again, “For my father, and your brother and mother. If they’re still important enough for us to do what we have to to keep them in our lives.”

He looks back and Thea holds his stare, letting that resolve sink and settle into her. She nods.

Joe straightens up from the windowsill after a minute and jerks his head towards the doorway. “Back to your training,” he says.

Thea huffs a quiet breath, lips curling up a little, miraculously. She still doesn’t feel lighter, but...she feels more sure than she did. “Thanks,” she says quietly.

Joe pauses before his lips curve up a little, maybe the first real smile she’s seen on his face since meeting him. He turns for the door and she moves to follow, pausing when her phone vibrates in her pocket against her thigh and groaning faintly as she digs it out and checks, just to confirm her suspicions.

“What is it?” Joe asks, frowning back when she looks up.

“Harper,” Thea sighs, looking back down and glaring a little at the list of text messages on her screen, “He’s pissed that your dad ditched him again. I tried telling him he was out of town and he just got pissier.”

“The kid my father was training?” Joe asks, brows furrowing.

“Yeah,” Thea sighs again, pocketing her phone with a frown and ignoring the vibration against her thigh. She frowns a little more at the thoughtful look on Joe’s face, brows drawing together. “What?” she asks.

Joe looks back after a moment, lips curving up in a small smirk. “I know what to do.”

Thea narrows her eyes a little, tilting her head a smidge.

\-----

Oliver frowns down from the warehouse’s third story rafters, watching Harper in his red hoodie pace across the floor below, the red catching the dim light coming through the windows and going brighter in slanted streaks before dipping into dark again as Harper slips into shadow.

Smoak told him what charger he’d need for his phone, but before he could leave the base to get it, Joe and Thea had found and told him about Harper. Slade didn’t leave any instruction about what to do with him, apparently, might have forgotten in the midst of everything, so now Oliver’s lurking up in a warehouse trying to figure out how best to approach the situation.

“ _Harper?” Oliver asks._

_“Yeah, he’s been blowing up my phone since dinner,” Thea replies, lips flattening._

_“My father didn’t leave any word about what to do with him, did he,” Joe says, not asks, raising an unimpressed brow from Thea’s side._

_Oliver looks to Smoak and Shado, who both shake their heads, then back to Joe and Thea. “Why are you coming to me?”_

_“Because someone should do something about it and I’m busy training your sister,” Joe replies._

_Oliver’s brows lower and they stare at one another for a long minute before Thea speaks, drawing Oliver’s eyes over._

_“Please, Ollie,” she says, looking up at him, “Roy’s not a bad guy. He just wants to do the right thing. But he can’t if no one helps him out. Well,” she adds after a moment of thought, brows drawing together, “He **can** , but it won’t end well.”_

_“She’s right,” Diggle says, drawing all their attention to where he’s standing next to Smoak’s desk with his arms crossed while Smoak glances back at them, fingers still moving over her keys. “His heart’s in the right place, but if left on his own, it really probably **won’t** go well for him. That’s why we wanted to bring him in.”_

_Oliver frowns, looking back to Thea. She stares up at him, almost imploringly, and he holds in a sigh, mentally reorganizing. He’ll have to call Slade later_.

Oliver tilts his head a little, watching Harper shove his hands into his hoodie pockets and keep pacing the warehouse floor, each turn getting sharper and sharper as the pace gradually picks up. Slade’s already had to save Harper once, if he’s not here…

Oliver’s lips flatten beneath his bandana.

But that doesn’t mean _he_ should be training Harper. When Ra’s and the League trained him, it was…

He holds in a sigh, dragging his eyes away. He takes a breath and shifts forward after a minute, dropping down to the warehouse floor. Harper jolts and whips around sharply at the sound, eyes widening.

“You-” he starts.

“Ghost isn’t here,” Oliver cuts him off flatly.

“I know,” Harper replies after a beat, visibly stealing himself and taking a breath as his brows lower, “But you are.”

Oliver’s eyes narrow. Was that Harper’s goal? They watch each other for a long minute and then Oliver slowly lowers into position, raising his hands and slowly curling them into fists. Harper takes another breath and does the same.

“I don’t fight like him,” Oliver warns low and quiet.

Harper’s brows lower again. “I can handle it.”

Oliver’s lips flatten and he _moves_.

\-----

“What a mess,” Lance mutters, staring at the three cars. Well, two. One’s too far back for him to really see from where he’s standing but he can see the other officer’s flashlights bobbing around where it’s crashed in the middle of the incoming highway lanes.

“Got something!” Lucas calls, standing back up out of the second car’s driver side door, hood dented around a tree, holding up a-

Lance narrows his eyes and Lucas nods.

“Yup,” Lucas says, “Looks like Wraith is back to the bow and arrows.” He looks down at the arrow in his hand for a minute, holding it up so the surrounding lights catch it better. “This looks like the ones he was using at the start. All black.”

Lance grinds his teeth, grunting quietly.

“My guess is the Triads got wind of him and wanted revenge, like we thought. He lead them out of the city this time at least, so that’s something,” Lucas adds, slipping the arrow into an evidence bag before heading over.

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to give him a medal for the kind _consideration_ ,” Lance snarks, rubbing at his temples. More dead bodies added to Queen’s name, great. Well, it kind of is, just gives Lance more ammunition to use against him later, but at the same time…“This is going to be a lot of paperwork,” he mutters, looking around the sectioned off highway again, yellow tape and bright red cones obnoxious where they interrupt the night.

“I’m just saying, it could’ve been worse,” Lucas says, glancing around too, “Better this happened out _here_ than added more damage to the city. Might help us, knowing he cares enough to do that.”

“ _If_ this was him,” Lance adds, but even he sounds like he doesn’t quite believe himself. There’s not many archers in Starling. Or any, besides Queen.

 _That we know of_ , Lance thinks darkly, brows drawing lower.

Lucas just raises his eyebrows a bit and Lance sighs longsufferingly, turning to head back to their car. He digs his Aspirin bottle out and pops the cap open, shaking out three. This on top of the alcohol he had earlier isn’t helping his headache.

\-----

Roy jerks back with a sharp sound and drops to his back on the floor as soon as soon as Wraith lets go of his leg, jerking his knee up and gripping his shin. “Are you _trying_ to break it?!” he lets out, panting heavily and glaring up. Wraith stares back down, brows drawn low together beneath his black hood. He takes a step back and Roy drops his head back to the warehouse floor, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the throbbing in his leg. “He wasn’t kidding about the two seconds,” he pants, cracking his eyes open and staring up.

It feels like they’ve only been at this for half an hour and already Roy’s ready to tap out. Wraith was right, he really _doesn’t_ fight like Ghost. He’s faster, hits more pointed, _sharper_ , somehow, like...they _would_ be killing blows if he wasn’t holding back. At least with Ghost, Roy’s _sure_ he isn’t trying to kill him. Mostly. Ghost seems to have been holding back more than Roy thought though if training with Wraith is _this different_.

It’s quiet for a minute, just Roy’s heavy, panting breaths disturbing the silence before Wraith says low and quiet, “This isn’t going to work.”

Roy lifts his head, almost a monumental effort, and stares up. “What?”

Wraith’s brows lower further, almost glaring down at him, but not quite, just... _staring_ at him intently. It’s creepy, having Wraith’s glowy green eyes so focused on him. Wraith turns to go and panic shoots through Roy’s chest, making him get to his feet with a wince.

“You’re just _going?_ ” he demands.

Wraith stills, back to him. Roy stares at it, slowly gritting his teeth.

“ _Fine_ ,” he forces out after a moment, “I’ll do this myself. I was going to anyway.” He turns to go too but then stops when Wraith asks:

“Why are you fighting?”

Roy turns around, finds Wraith staring at him again, studying him, he realizes. That’s what that look is.

“Because,” Roy grits out, brows dropping, “ _Someone_ has to do _something_. The cops _barely_ come to the Glades, _no one_ looks out for us, not even ourselves, and it’s just- it was just getting _worse_ , before Ghost showed up. And now it’s-” He cuts off, eyes dropping to the floor while his fingers curl into tight fists. He just breathes for a minute, through the- useless anger in his chest, the _helplessness_. He did what he could for the people injured, but the Glades are still _destroyed_ , so many people without their family or homes. _His_ home got destroyed too. He’s been staying at the barely standing _clinic_ with twenty other people.

It’s quiet again. Roy forces himself to take another breath, and another, and eventually calms down, turning back for the warehouse door again and walking-

“The Glades were destroyed by a person,” Wraith says, and Roy freezes, eyes widening. He whips back around, staring at him.

“What...?” Roy asks numbly, “ _Who…?_ ”

Wraith stares back, brows low, and growls out, “ _Malcolm Merlyn_.”

_Malcolm-?_

“The rich, CEO guy?” Roy asks incredulously, “What? _Why? How_ do you even _know_ that?”

Wraith studies him for another moment before taking a breath and reaching up, tugging his bandana down off the lower half of his face. Roy stares dumbly, thoughts skidding to a stop. “Because my mother helped him,” Oliver Queen answers, because it’s- Roy didn’t read the tabloids much, but he saw the reports about the missing rich people, Thea’s-

_Thea’s brother._

_That makes a lot more sense now_ , Roy thinks distantly, Wraith being so protective of her when he found out Roy was talking with her.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Roy says slowly through the shock. That and the- _wait._ “Your _mother?_ ” he manages, voice going sharp, “ _What the hell is_ -”

“Malcolm Merlyn killed my father, sabotaged our boat, and my mother helped him under duress,” Oliver Queen cuts him off, voice low and as hard as the look in his green eyes, “You want to change the Glades?”

“I-” Roy stops, everything trying to sink in. There’s too much. He needs more time. The only thing he knows for sure is- His brows drop and his own voice goes hard. “ _I want to kill the bastard who wrecked it_.”

“I’m handling Merlyn,” Queen replies firmly, “He’s a better fighter than you.”

“‘ _Fighter’_?” Roy gets out, eyebrows shooting up, “ _What_ -”

“Do you want to change the Glades?” Queen repeats firmly, cutting him off again and forcing him back on track.

They stare at one another for a minute and Roy’s fists slowly tighten again. He nods sharply.

“Then come with me,” Queen says, pulling his bandana back up and walking past him for the warehouse door.

“ _Where?_ ” Roy asks, jolting a little and following after a beat, “And _why_ are you telling me all this?” Ghost never told him _anything_ , not a word, and now-

“Because I’m taking you to someone who can teach you properly,” Queen answers, heading out into the city with Roy hot on his heels.

\--

All the commotion stops when Oliver steps down into the basement with Harper in tow, Thea and Joe looking up from where they’re training in the far left corner, Shado where she’s sharpening an arrow in the right, and Smoak and Diggle back by the computers where they were talking quietly. Smoak turns and jumps up out of her chair, speaking first:

“ _What are you doing?_ ” she asks incredulously, eyes darting quickly between them.

Oliver pulls his bandana down. “I made a decision.”

“Yeah, I can see that. One involving _all_ of us. Don’t you think you should have _included_ us in- bringing _him here?_ ” she asks, brows drawing sharply together.

“You wanted him involved,” Oliver returns, his own brows lowering. Slade might have been training Harper, but he would never do that willingly unless he had to, and saving Harper once and Harper helping Oliver save Slade doesn’t exactly qualify. So it’s like Diggle said, _they_ wanted to bring him in.

Smoak’s lips press together and Oliver narrows his eyes a little. It was her.

“You’re right,” Smoak says after a tense beat, taking a breath and shifting her gaze to Harper at Oliver’s back left, “We wanted to help you with your vigilante-ing and I convinced Wilson to try and train you so you’d have a better chance.” She shifts her eyes back to Oliver, brows lowering again as her gaze sharpens. “But we should have _discussed_ bringing you in first and seeing all our faces.”

“He needs someone to train him,” Oliver replies, “Ghost is gone. I can’t.”

“Why not?” Joe demands, drawing his attention over.

“Because I will break him the way I was broken,” Oliver answers. It goes silent at that, Joe’s brows lowering while Thea’s angle up. Oliver tries to ignore the concern on her face, the one paired with sympathy in most of their faces, focusing back on Joe instead. “You need to do it.”

“What? I’m already training your sister,” Joe replies.

“You’re the only one here with combat training similar to Ghost’s who’s available. You wanted me to deal with him, I can’t. He’s yours,” Oliver finishes, turning and heading back for the stairs. He ignores Thea calling his name, Harper’s confused voice asking a question, and heads up and down the hall, straight outside, only taking a breath once the door shuts behind him. He stills when he hears it open again a few moments later, judging the sound of the light tread closing in across the pavement and weighing the possibilities: Thea or Shado. He glances back around his hood.

Shado.

She stops at his right, looking up over at him, and Oliver lets out a quiet breath. “You’ve been following me,” he says, not asks. She doesn’t say anything.

She was following him earlier when he was dealing with the Triads, then when he was talking to Joe, had heard her and ignored it, and now. She might have even followed him when he went to deal with Harper.

“Slade?” he asks quieter. Shado smiles a little, brows drawing together, and Oliver drags his eyes away, looking across the small parking lot to the side of the neighbouring building’s dark brick wall.

“He doesn’t trust you with Joe,” she says, calm and quiet, “And I was worried about you. You changed since coming here mostly because of him, neither of us were sure what you’d be like while he was gone.”

Oliver makes himself take a slow breath past the tightening in his chest, the faint sting that starts at the backs of his eyes, tries to ignore the weight of the flip phone in his pocket. “I want to call him,” he says even quieter, almost a whisper, confession blown away on a light summer breeze. He looks over when Shado’s small hand gently grips his bicep, smiling up at him without any conflict in her eyes this time.

“Then call him,” she says, like it’s easy, “He wants you to. Not that he’d say it.” She pauses, smirking a little when Oliver stays quiet. “Or maybe he would?” Oliver looks away and hears her huff quietly, laughing at him.

“I need a charger,” he says. He looks back over when he hears Shado shift, staring down at the black charger she holds out towards him, its cord wrapped around the small block of it. He looks back up.

“Slade gave it to me before he left,” Shado answers the look on his face, smirking a little again and raising a brow. Oliver takes it after a moment, looking away again as he shoves it in his pocket. “He also told me his old hotel room is still available for you to stay in for the next few days, if you want,” she adds.

Oliver’s cheeks warm a little at that and the curve in her tone, and keeps his gaze away, reaching up after a moment to pull his bandana back up over the lower half of his face. He turns to head back inside and grab his duffel of weapons but pauses when Shado taps his shoulder, following her gaze when she looks down. He stills when he finds his bag in her other hand and she offers it over. He reaches for it after a moment and takes it, looking up again.

“The room key is in there, along with some takeout I bought at the little shop down the street while you were out,” Shado says, still smirking. She reaches up and cups his cheek gently over his bandana before pulling away. “Now you have no more excuses,” she finishes, turning and heading back inside.

Oliver watches her go, chest feeling tight and- warm. He takes a breath through it to steady himself and starts walking.

\--

He sets his plastic fork down in the takeout box Shado got for him while he finishes chewing, swallowing the last bite and finally letting himself look around the hotel room more than cursory. It looks the same as they left it: bed loosely made, the table he’s sitting at’s edge nearest to the wall still broken in two places, and nothing else out of place. Oliver’s not sure if that’s better or worse, but it makes the ache in his chest-

He shifts his eyes over to the burner phone charging on the left on the table, staring at it for a long minute. He slowly reaches over and flips it open, checking the charge level and the time.

It’s almost eleven. For Australia that means…

It’s not too late or early to call, Oliver thinks, gaze distant. He focuses back down on the phone again, slowly taps to the contacts and stares for another minute before making himself take a breath and unplug the phone, dialing Slade’s number and bringing it up to his ear. It rings, and rings-

The line _clicks_.

“ _Oliver?_ ” comes Slade’s voice, a little tinny but mostly the same.

Oliver sucks in a faint breath, surprised, despite himself. “Slade,” he breathes on a quiet rush, slumping forward over the table a bit with it as his chest squeezes tight. He sits back up and grabs the takeout container, dumping it over in the small trashcan behind him by the door before leaning on his forearm and elbow on the table.

“ _Wasn’t sure you’d call_ ,” Slade says. Oliver faintly hears shifting before Slade sighs quietly across the line.

“...Wasn’t sure I would either,” Oliver replies quietly, sliding his arm and elbow further up the table until he’s practically laying across it, staring down at the pattern in the wood without really seeing it.

“ _You’re sitting alone, brooding in the dark, aren’t you_ ,” Slade says, a hint of amusement lacing his tone.

Oliver huffs quietly, hears Slade snort.

They don’t say anything else for a few minutes, Oliver just listening to Slade breathe. The tightness in his chest slowly unwinds, leaving him almost boneless across the table. He’s not relaxed, exactly, just...less tense. He didn’t realize how much tension he was carrying until it started leaving him.

“ _How’s Joe?_ ” Slade eventually asks.

“You already know,” Oliver replies.

“ _Yeah, but I’m asking you_ ,” Slade counters.

Oliver snorts faintly, still staring down at the wood. “He scolded me,” he answers quieter, doesn’t say anything else for a few moments and neither does Slade. “I didn’t want you here,” Oliver confesses, almost a whisper.

Slade sighs on the other end again, then, “ _I know. But I’ve already told you, what I do isn’t up to you. I’m coming back_.”

Oliver’s lips flatten even while his traitorous heart beats faster in his chest. He tries to ignore it and leans down, resting the side of his head on his other arm. “Have you seen him yet?” he asks, still quiet.

“ _No_ ,” Slade answers after a beat, his own voice lowering. He sighs quietly. “ _Adeline’s pissed. I called ahead to give her time. I’m going tomorrow_.”

Oliver’s brows draw together a little. So that’s her name.

It’s quiet again.

Oliver pushes himself up after a few minutes and gets to his feet, walking over to the bed. He sits down on the edge and takes his boots off with his free hand before rolling back and over and curling up. He can still vaguely smell Slade on the sheets and tries to resist being...creepy and burying his nose in them to chase it. That’s not what people do, even though he’s not sure he’s ‘people’. His heightened senses alone make everything different, nevermind...everything else.

“ _How’s your mother?_ ” Slade asks casually, breaking the silence.

“I haven’t seen her,” Oliver answers, pulling his knees up a little more, “I don’t want to see her.”

“ _Your sister?_ ” Slade asks next, almost idly, trying not to make a big deal out of it.

“Joe’s training her,” Oliver answers. Slade snorts across the line. “And Harper,” Oliver adds.

Slade groans low and quiet. “ _I’m sure they’re both **thrilled**_ ,” he replies, dryly sarcastic.

“I tried training him,” Oliver says after a moment, “It didn’t work.”

“ _Couldn’t hold back?_ ” Slade asks.

“Not enough,” Oliver confirms quieter, “The way the League trained me, it’s different.” Slade hums quietly, a non-reply, and doesn’t say anything. Oliver debates with himself to fill the silence, take the unspoken offer to talk about it. The pressure slowly builds enough that he eventually does. “Ra’s tested my body’s limits for pain and regeneration for a year with various methods. I got used to pain and broken bones, to getting stabbed so I could fight through it. I don’t want to do that to Harper, or Thea, but it’s too-...” _Ingrained_ , he doesn’t say, in muscle memory, on top of him not being a teacher. He doesn’t know _how_ to be something like that, to be...restrained with others in a fight. He was taught to be lethal, not gentle.

It’s quiet for a minute.

“ _I’m going to kill him_ ,” Slade says, low, sure, quiet, and calm, the kind that might have sent Oliver’s hair standing on end on the island. Now, it’s different. He’s familiar with that kind of brutality, that certainty in the finality of taking a life.

“If anyone outside a sanctioned duel kills Ra’s al Ghul, them and their entire family will be hunted to the ends of the earth and die a thousand deaths,” Oliver recites, chest squeezing. He presses his lips together.

“ _I could challenge him to a ‘duel’_ ,” Slade replies, still in that same tone.

“Don’t,” Oliver says sharper, “You’ve barely bested me, and he’s better than I am.”

They both have the mirakuru, but it’s not a matter of strength with Ra’s, but skill, and Ra’s is the most skilled fighter Oliver has ever seen, even with his own training and travels around the world. Oliver took to his League training like a duck to water once he dedicated himself to it, but even soaking up everything he could like a sponge, he still couldn’t beat Nyssa, who isn’t quite at the level Ra’s is. Spending her whole life training under her father has made her extremely formidable, and if Oliver couldn’t beat _her_ , then he can’t beat her father, which means the chances of Slade beating him are nearly equal. Him and Slade run about even in a fight, holding back and not. Maybe if they took on Ra’s together they’d be able to win, but that kind of fighting isn’t permitted in an official League duel. It’s one on one, and you live or die by your own sword, not leaning on someone else’s.

Slade huffs a quiet, frustrated breath across the line and Oliver closes his eyes, finally lets himself turn his face a little more into the sheets and focus on Slade’s fading scent instead. His chest squeezes again and he lets out a slow breath.

 _‘I wish you were here’_ is too cheesy to say, but now Oliver knows why people say it so much in the first place. He’s never missed anyone quite like he misses Slade. He was always running away from Laurel, even when he was running to her, and his father dying was different. He’d missed his mother and sister, but he couldn’t talk to them. Now, Slade is on the phone, thousands of miles away, and all Oliver wants to do is close the distance, so tiny because of the phone, so monumental because of the miles.

“I hate this feeling,” he whispers, immediately clenching his jaw for admitting it.

“ _I’ll be back in a few days_ ,” Slade replies quietly, because he always seems to know what Oliver’s talking about, even when Oliver doesn’t voice it right. He knows he doesn’t, never has. It’s... _hard_ to, almost as hard as his training, just in a different way.

Oliver swallows a little, can feel his throat starting to go tight and tries to ignore it. He feels so...alone. That’s never bothered him before, or hasn’t since the island, but now, it’s…

His eyes start to sting again and he squeezes them shut, tries to force the feeling away and _can’t_. As much as he wanted Slade away from here, he doesn’t.

 _I don’t want him to stay away_ , he thinks, almost desperately.

Oliver sucks in a breath and then clamps his mouth shut even as the tears build, hates how ragged it sounds.

“ _Oliver_ ,” Slade says, steady and calm, catching his attention. Oliver cracks his eyes open and sees the sheets in the dark, the ridiculous, shiny teal comforter laid out over it. “ _I’m coming back_.”

“I don’t-” Oliver tries to get out, has to stop and suck in another breath, “I-”

“ _I know_ ,” Slade cuts him off, almost gently, but not quite, not enough to make Oliver feel like an idiot for the tears trying to escape down his cheeks.

He turns his face a little more into the sheets, catches Slade’s scent again and his chest just squeezes tighter, shoulders hunching up near his ears.

 _I want you here_ , he doesn’t say, presses his lips firmly together and clenches his jaw. Slade needs to see his son. Oliver won’t make him feel guilty for doing that, or distracted because Oliver can’t hold himself together for a few days on his own, something he’s done a thousand times. This time shouldn’t be any different. It is. It isn’t.

“ _I know_ ,” Slade repeats, not quite soft, but enough.

Oliver pulls his knees up tighter and struggles to just- breathe. Slade stays on the line with him the whole time, his breathing steady and even. Oliver focuses on the sound of it until his own eventually matches, until he slowly falls asleep. Slade never hangs up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some crack I'm trying to figure out where to put it <_< Might make it a oneshot bc Tatch and I laughed tears over it I gotta post it _somewhere_


	34. Ready or not, here I come. You can't hide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title music; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qVrumBAl_iM - "Ready Or Not" by Mischa Book Chillak feat Esthero

“So. Your brother,” Roy says.

Thea drags her eyes from the staircase Ollie went up over to him. Roy drags his own back from the same place, both of them glancing over when Shado grabs Oliver’s bag and darts up the stairs after her brother. “Yeah,” Thea says after a moment, gaze following Shado up and wanting to-...follow, but it feels like she shouldn’t. “My brother.”

“ _Because I’ll break him the same way I was broken_.”

 _God_ , Thea thinks, gripping her arms with a small wince. She lets go and curls her fingers tight, brows lowering. She’s going to help stop those League people if it’s the _last thing she **does**_.

“And your mom,” Roy says, voice harder, drawing her attention back, “Helped destroy the Glades.” Roy stares down at the floor for a moment, jaw clenching before looking back. The guilt hits Thea in the chest all over again, the disbelief and shock still lingering from earlier. She hasn’t asked Smoak to show her whatever Ollie said she could, but...she believes him.

“I’m _so sorry_ , Roy,” Thea says sincerely, backs of her eyes stinging again. All she can think about is the amount of _people_ gone. She’s still- God, how is she going to face her mother when she gets home? No wonder Ollie hasn’t yet, as far as she knows.

Roy watches her for a long minute and Thea swallows, tension building tighter and tighter in her until she feels like she’s going to explode- His eyes drop to the bandages around her hands and running up her arms and she hunches her shoulders in a little, feels more self conscious of them than she has since getting them.

“Something happen?” Roy finally asks, quieter and more somber than he usually is. 

Thea’s eyes drag away. “I’d rather not talk about it,” she answers quietly after a moment. She glances around, sees Diggle and Felicity talking quietly while they glance over, sees Joe on his phone, who glances up too, all of them giving her and Roy some semblance of privacy. Thea’s shoulders hunch a little more and she hears Roy take a breath.

“Your- _brother_ said your mother destroyed the Glades out of ‘duress’ from Malcolm Merlyn,” Roy says, a little strained. Thea’s eyes snap back. Roy looks around at the others and Felicity turns her chair to face them, but stays quiet. “How is he even _alive?_ ” Roy asks, looking back to Thea almost desperately, like he’s trying to focus on that instead of everything else. She can relate. “I get why people don’t know, since he’s been going around killing scumbags, but…”

“Long story,” Thea blows out on a breath after a moment, trying to let go of the tension winding tighter again-

“One that doesn’t matter right now,” Joe cuts in, drawing all their attentions. He tosses a stick at Roy who barely catches it in time, staring from it up to Joe. Joe shrugs his jacket off before grabbing his own stick out of his bag, eyes shifting to Thea. “We’re here to train. You, observe while I try to teach you both something.”

Thea blinks, trying to switch gears as her thoughts stall. It would sound rude from anyone else, but the way Joe says it is just...factual, rather than an insult. He _does_ know more than they do and he _is_ going through trouble he doesn’t _have_ to to try and teach them.

Thea takes a breath and tries to force the memories and- emotions aside and focus, backing up towards the wall by her folded up coat on the floor. She bends down to pick it up and put it back on while her gaze goes back to Joe and Roy, both getting into some fighting position that may or may not have a name. 

“Show me what Ghost taught you,” Joe orders.

“He mostly beat me senseless until I couldn’t stand anymore,” Roy returns, raising an eyebrow a little with his stick.

Joe snorts faintly, lips twitching up in a small, sardonic smirk. “He favors that method.”

Roy’s other eyebrow rises. “He trained you too?”

Joe’s quiet for a moment before taking a breath, brows lowering. “He’s my father.”

Roy’s eyebrows shoot up as his eyes widen. “ _He’s your_ -”

“Stop gawking and fight,” Joe orders, running at him, and Roy jolts before moving, Thea’s eyes following.

\--

They go at it for an hour, Roy flipping, twisting, turning, trying to get the edge over Joe who counters everything almost as easily as breathing. 

Thea watches, catches Shado coming back down the stairs alone at some point, but drags her eyes back to the fight instead of thinking about the fact that her brother is gone again. After another hour of it, Joe finally tells them to break for the night.

“I can still move,” Roy pants, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand as he lowers his stick.

“Because I need you to be able to do it tomorrow night,” Joe returns, offering a hand out. Roy stares at it dumbly and then jolts a little, handing the stick back, and Joe takes them over to his bag, crouching down to slip them inside. He stands back up and turns around, eyes locking on Thea and Roy. “What did you learn?”

“That you’re not as sadistic as your father,” Roy pants dryly.

Diggle snorts quietly from over by Felicity’s desk and Thea stands from the wall, slipping her hands in her coat pockets.

“Adjust yourself to the size of your opponent, and if you can’t beat them in speed...outsmart them?” she tries. The first she got from Ollie, admittedly, but the rest is what she kind of got from watching. Roy was fast, faster than Joe in some instances, but Joe knew where Roy was going, or where he would end up and countered everything Roy threw at him, even the fancy spins and flips Roy seemed to be fond of.

Joe nods and shoves his dark bangs back with a hand, a light sweat covering him too. “And stop wasting time on the specialized moves,” he says, focusing back on Roy, “You’re wasting energy flipping unnecessarily.”

Roy makes a face but doesn’t say anything, even frowning as he is.

“Flips take time,” Joe elaborates longsufferingly at the look, raising an unimpressed brow, “And energy. I didn’t hit you when I could have when you left yourself open, but next time I will.”

“Oliver flips a lot,” Felicity pipes in, drawing their gazes.

“He can afford to,” Joe counters, brows lowering, “He’s faster and has more stamina than a normal person, same with my father.”

“This have something to do with Ghost shrugging off a bullet wound like it never happened?” Roy asks, everyone looking over sharply. No one says anything and Roy sighs with a shrug. “It’s not hard to figure out something’s going on, even if you don’t tell me.”

“We’ll meet here tomorrow at nine,” Joe says after a beat, turning to grab his jacket and bag up off the floor. 

Thea looks up the stairs as he goes, fingering the burner phone in her pocket as her brows draw together, worry sinking back in. Ollie left a while ago, alone, and what Thea said to him after he told her everything...she wasn’t _wrong_ , but- maybe she shouldn’t have said it-

Shado approaching in her periphery snaps her out of her thoughts, eyes darting over. “Your brother will be fine,” Shado says low and quiet, private, smiling small but kind, _knowing_ , “Will _you_ be? I know he told you.”

Thea pauses, chest squeezing _tight_ as she forces her eyes away. She takes a breath and makes herself let it out slower. “I don’t know,” she admits, just as quiet, dragging her eyes over to watch Roy head over to Diggle and Felicity, “It’s...a lot.”

Shado smiles a little more, eyes gentle. She doesn’t reach up and touch Thea, which Thea’s grateful for, but the look in her eyes is warm enough that she doesn’t need to. “We’re here, if you need us,” Shado offers quietly, “Most of us know what you’re going through, even if it’s not exactly the same. You’re not alone, just like Oliver isn’t.”

Thea swallows, nodding after a moment. “Thank you,” she says quieter, then, “But why are you...offering? I don’t mean-...It’s just...Is it because of Ollie?” Her brother’s important to Shado, that much is obvious, but to extend that care to _her_ seems...They don’t really know each other.

Shado pauses, then smiles again. “Partly,” she answers a little wryly before her expression goes more somber, “But mostly it’s just...It’s better to not have to go through all this alone, isn’t it?”

Thea stills for a moment, then nods again, wiping at her eyes a little when they start stinging. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Shado’s smile gentles even further and she returns the nod before heading for the stairs, taking them up. Thea watches her go a moment before dragging her eyes over to Diggle, Felicity, and Roy.

“So _you’re_ the one who got Ghost to train me?” Roy asks, eyes down on Felicity while she keeps her own ahead on her screens, still typing...something.

“Yup, that’d be me,” Felicity answers, a little more toned down than usual, but still pleasant.

Roy studies her a moment. “You’re still mad about me being here, aren’t you.”

Felicity sighs, turning a little more towards him and letting go of her keyboard. “Not _at_ you, just...it was sudden. I would’ve liked to _talk_ about bringing you in first, but Oliver’s not really big on _talking_ ,” she finishes in a mutter, looking away for a moment and then back. “There’s things going on here that other people shouldn’t know. Secrets. Which I probably shouldn’t even be _saying_ in the first place.”

“We all literally beat up and kill people, and train in the basement of an abandoned building and warehouses while running from the police,” Roy says after a beat, raising his eyebrows, “Who am I going to tell?”

“You could be forced to, if anyone found out,” Diggle says seriously, brows lowering as his arms cross a little tighter over his chest.

Roy looks over, jaw clenching. “I wouldn’t talk.”

“You don’t know that,” Diggle returns, steady and calm, “None of us do. But, it’s too late to do much about that.” He sighs, looking over at Thea. “Are you ready? Ms. Queen.”

Thea jolts a little, attention snapping back from where her eyes had gone unfocused in thought, in...memory. She takes a breath. “To go home? Sure. To face my mother? Not so much,” she answers, brows lowering and drawing together.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Diggle says, then smiles down over at Felicity. “Do either of you need a ride?” he asks, shifting his gaze between her and Roy.

“Please,” Felicity replies with a smile, computers already shutting down as she stands from her chair, grabbing her bag off the side of the desk. 

Roy shakes his head and slips his hands into his hoodie pockets. “I’m good,” he answers, heading for the stairs. Thea looks over at him apologetically as he passes and Roy pauses and takes a breath, giving her a tiny nod. Thea’s shoulders drop while her lips press together and he heads up. 

Roy’s not mad at her, and apparently _maybe_ shouldn’t be mad at her mother, but he still needs time to- just- _process_ everything.

Thea watches Roy go for a moment before jolting a little and following Diggle and Felicity up the stairs when they pass her, Felicity turning the lights off for the basement on their way.

\--

Thea’s mother isn’t up when they get home, or she gets home, after having dropped Felicity off at her place. Thea lets out a breath and looks to Diggle as they head up the stairs for the second floor, and he smiles a little.

“Looks like we’re crossing that bridge tomorrow,” he jokes quietly.

Thea drags her eyes back forward, brows drawn worriedly together, then looks back. “Are you mad at Ollie?” she asks quietly.

“A little,” Diggle responds after a moment of thought, “But it had to happen eventually. He’s just very... _brutally efficient_ in his methods, _all_ of them, it seems.” Diggle’s brows drop.

Thea’s lips press together. Both their paces slow as they close in on her bedroom door. “You want to help Roy become a vigilante?” she asks, keeping her voice down and looking over at him again.

“Wilson’s going to leave,” Diggle says, looking back down over at her. Thea’s heart stills in her chest at the implications. “Eventually. But I think...he might’ve started something good with what he was doing, even if he went about it...the way he did.”

They stop outside her bedroom, Thea staring down at the door handle for a long moment. “Do you think Ollie will go with him?” she asks quieter, forcing her eyes back up.

Diggle watches her before sighing quietly. “I honestly can’t say,” he answers, just as quiet, “But he’s still considered a dead man, and if people find out he’s alive? That might not go well, especially with Lance knowing what he does and Laurel trying to arrest him.” 

They watch each other for a moment while Thea tries to- let that sink in. It’s not something she didn’t know already, she just- it wasn’t high on her priority list to think about with everything else going on. Her brother was here, the Glades got destroyed, she got kidnapped and tortured, then found out about her family and Malcolm Merlyn. It was a worry, one she brought up with Ollie, but it was one of the least of her worries _today_ , or yesterday, buried under the rest, something to deal with _later_. 

“You need to prepare yourself for the possibility that he might, though,” Diggle adds, snapping her out of her thoughts. 

Thea swallows and makes herself nod. Diggle returns it, tries to give her a reassuring smile.

“We’ll deal with it, whatever it is,” Diggle says, then turns to go, “Goodnight, Ms. Queen.”

“Goodnight,” she whispers back, watching him head back for the stairs for a long moment before turning for her door and twisting the handle open, pushing inside. She closes the door behind her and takes a shaky breath as everything- _floods_ back in on top of that. Everything Oliver told her, about their father, their mother, _Malcolm_. How come she couldn’t see it? _Any_ of it? For _years_ it’s been there under the surface and she- she didn’t see a _damn thing_. It makes her...so _angry_ , that her parents lied to her, pretended everything was fine and normal when it was anything _but_. 

But at the same time...knowing what she does about her brother and Malcolm, what Malcolm’s capable of, what he’s _done_ -

She takes another shaky breath and forces herself to hold it through the pressure in her chest, squeezing her eyes shut while she counts to ten before letting it out as steadily as she can, fingers curling tight. She opens her eyes and heads for her closet, stopping halfway-

Her knees buckle and she manages to drop to her couch instead of the floor, dropping her face into her hands as it all washes over her again. Her mother, her father, the _Glades, all those people_. She doesn’t sob like she wants, doesn’t scream or rage or yell, she just- cries, and tries to keep quiet as she shakes and shudders on her couch cushions, sucking in breaths and strangling the noises in her chest through the tidal wave washing over her head and the weight of it all dragging her under. Her resolve is still there, intact, it’s just-

 _It’s so much_.

 _All those **people**_ , she thinks desperately. Her father dying, her mother lying and- living in _fear_ for the past _five years?_ Her brother getting stranded, hurt, turned into something she never once in a million _years_ would have even guessed he _could_ become. _I really don’t know them_ , she thinks, biting her lower lip hard on another sound as her vision blurs again, more warmth sliding wet down her cheeks. She does, but she doesn’t. _What am I going to do?_

She doesn’t have an answer to that yet, except…

“ _That’s all it really comes down to_ ,” Joe had said, “ _For my father, and your brother and mother. If they’re still important enough for us to do what we have to to keep them in our lives_.”

She curls her fingers against her forehead and takes a shaky breath, then another, and another. That’s all she can really do, just...keep _trying_.

\-----

Oliver stirs, wakes up long enough to see it’s still dark, that his phone has gone black and silent and flips it shut, getting up and padding over to the table to plug it in. The little screen in the cover lights up and he heads back over to the bed, curling back up on the covers and closing his eyes. His thoughts try drifting back to Slade, to Thea, his mother, everything that spans out from those points, but he makes it all- stop, and just tries to go back to sleep. He can’t go after Malcolm, it’s too late in the night to see his mother or Thea again, and he can’t see Slade. He’s not in the mood to go find weapons, he’d just be a risk to himself if he left now, so there’s nothing he can do, not right now. It all has to wait.

He yawns quietly and turns his head, burying his face in the pillow Slade used. It’s weird, maybe, strange to use Slade’s scent like this, but it...helps calm him down, settle the pressing need and anxious restlessness in his chest to _do_ something and lulls him back down enough that the dark finally pulls him back under.

\--

The second time Oliver wakes up, the room is lit with dim sunlight blocked by the curtains. The sun can’t have risen above the horizon that long ago since it’s still more darker in the room than not, but he feels...rested, not as much as before Slade left, but enough. He lets himself take the time to stretch, to linger on the bed with Slade’s scent in his nose before finally pushing himself up and heading into the bathroom, unzipping his hoodie on the way. He gets the rest of his clothes off, tosses them back onto the bed, uses the toilet and washes his hands, then gets in the shower, not bothering with the curtain this time.

 _I need food_ , he thinks, scrubbing at his hair with the- shampoo Slade left. He needs food, to see his mother, to check on...Laurel and Tommy, or have Smoak do it. She should be in their systems already, or enough to know what they’re doing, he just needs to ask her, which might be...difficult. He’s not used to relying on people, or interacting in a group that does more than follow directives from a single leader, and he went against their collective wishes last night. They might not be so forthcoming if he goes to them now, especially Smoak. Still.

He rinses his hair out and reaches for the conditioner. 

It doesn’t negate that they do need to check on Laurel and Tommy, the subtler the better.

 _Tommy_ , Oliver thinks quietly, lips flattening while he rubs the conditioner through his hair, then starts rinsing it out. 

He still has lingering ties to Tommy, he can feel it, but their friendship feels like...a lifetime ago. It almost doesn’t feel real anymore, after everything, like a mirage. Seeing Tommy with Laurel made those ties...ache, but it’s a feeling that feels like it spans through ten years of change and hardship instead of five, enough to subdue sixteen years of them growing up together. Oliver’s not the same person who was friends with Tommy, and Tommy wouldn’t know him anymore. The disconnect is…

He holds in a sigh, reaching for the bar soap.

None of it’s been easily surmountable, rebuilt. He’s still working on his relationship with Thea, his...mother, with Slade and Shado even, who he feels closer to, in a lot of ways. With Laurel and Tommy it’s...different. He doesn’t _want_ them to know he’s alive, and they’d be better off not knowing. They have their own lives, Tommy even has a sturdier one compared to the whole time Oliver knew him, has changed in his own ways, and Oliver doesn’t want to ruin that by bringing unnecessary conflict into it, _if_ Tommy doesn’t know about his father. Oliver doesn’t think he does, but-

He grimaces.

But there’s been a lot of things he thought knew and turned out he didn’t. He hasto talk to Smoak.

\-----

“Thanks,” Laurel says with a smile to their waiter as he sets their dishes down on the table between them. The waiter nods with a polite smile back as he heads away, already flittering off to his next table.

“Kind of surprised you wanted to come here for lunch,” Tommy says as he grabs his fork, smiling at her across the table, “Indian is usually for dinner.”

“I was in the mood,” Laurel replies with a small shrug, smiling back. She grabs her own fork and starts in on her food, trying to let a few minutes go by before she finally asks, “So how is your father? You just said you found him being ‘unflappable’ but...he’s not hurt or anything?” She manages to keep the suspicion out of her tone, at least, all those years in the courtroom paying off. She feels guilty for using that experience on Tommy, but she _needs_ answers, and she can’t be sure what he does or doesn’t know about his father, what he might know that’s monumentally useful, or what he doesn’t. She doesn’t _know,_ and she needs to.

Tommy blinks at her a moment, halfway through chewing before he finishes up and swallows. “Oh, yeah, he’s fine. I found him in his penthouse just...staring out the windows. He must’ve been as shocked about what happened as-...we all were.” Tommy’s eyes drop and Laurel’s follow to her own plate after a moment, both of them swallowing a little.

 _The Glades_ , Laurel thinks, lips twisting.

She forces her eyes back up.

How is she going to ask him _without_ asking him? She’s not sure she can.

“Tommy,” Laurel says after a beat, drawing his eyes back up. Her brows draw together a little. “Has your...father been acting strange lately?” Tommy’s eyebrows climb a bit and she takes a breath, trying to steel herself. “I’m just...worried, is all. I know how much your relationship with your father means, and with the Glades getting destroyed…” she trails off, trying to let the insinuation set in without having to say it. 

That’s where Tommy’s mother died, the Glades, the whole thing that started Malcolm leaving him alone for so long and changing _so much_ in the first place. Laurel feels guilt for using it, too, but...she’s not _just_ using it, she _is_ worried about Tommy’s relationship with his father, what it might do to him in the long run if...if whatever nebulous suspicions Laurel has about him are true.

Tommy’s eyes drop to the table again and he sits back a little from his plate, taking a slow breath. “He’s fine,” he finally answers seriously, looking up, “Just...I don’t know, it _was_ kind of weird to find him staring out the window at- the Glades, but...I mean, I don’t think I can _blame_ him since that’s-...where...” he trails off, jaw tightening.

Laurel nods, lips pressing together.

That is something to consider, that Malcolm was effected by the Glade destruction in a different way. But, with everything going on, she also has to consider…What if it’s...a _different_ angle? If she takes out the ties to Tommy’s mother, or-...alters them, how does that change Malcolm’s reaction?

Laurel’s brows slowly draw together while the theories and thoughts compound, jerking out of them when Tommy speaks again.

“I’m just glad you’re both alright,” he says, smiling a little again, more subdued, but open and real, “And your dad, too. Do they know how long he’ll be using the cane?”

“Just a couple weeks, I think,” Laurel answers, managing her own small smile and letting the previous topic go. She sets her fork down and reaches across the table, gently gripping the back of Tommy’s hand while her smile softens, looking at him apologetically. “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

Tommy’s own smile softens and he turns his hand, holding hers back as he leans closer towards her across the table. “You were just worried. It’s okay. I’m glad-...I’m _glad_ you care so much.”

Laurel’s cheeks warm and her smile spreads with his, even as the guilt chips away at her a little. She gives Tommy’s hand a squeeze and he returns it, the touch lingering before they slowly let go and go back to their food.

\-----

Felicity’s bluetooth vibrates quietly in her bag and she jolts a little, eyes darting briefly to her open office door before she pulls it out and slips it in her ear, answering. “Yes?”

“ _Are you monitoring Laurel and Tommy?_ ” comes Oliver’s voice, straight to the point, and Felicity’s bright mood plummets.

“Oh. It’s you,” she says as devoid of emotion as she can. Considering who she’s been working her nights with? She’s improved _drastically_.

There’s a pause and Felicity takes the opportunity to open a text app and send one off to Digg.

“ _Are you-..._ ” Oliver trails off, almost awkwardly when she doesn’t answer, and Felicity blows out a sigh.

“Yes,” she answers, eyes darting up to her doorway to check again and lowering her voice, “I’m in both of their system computers as of last night, and I was _going_ to give you that update on both of them until you brought _you know who_ over _without consulting any of us_.” She blows out a breath, trying to let go of her frustration... _again_.

Oliver’s silent on the other end and Felicity focuses back on her screen, brows drawn lower.

It’s quiet for a minute, then, “ _I apologize for bringing Harper without...asking_ ,” Oliver says eventually, stiltedly.

Felicity’s fingers pause on her keys and she lets out a quieter sigh, leaning back in her chair. “Look,” she starts after a minute, keeping her eyes on her office doorway, “I know things have been...hard, with your family, and finding out everything. I get- well, no, I can’t say I _get_ it, but I...empathize. Just...it’s not an excuse for treating people without consideration, do you know what I mean?”

It’s silent a moment before she hears a quiet, “ _Yes_.”

“Okay,” Felicity says, sitting up again and tapping out another text, “Good. Just. Next time, think about the rest of us before you decide to do something on your own, okay?” She lets her voice soften as she glances up at her doorway again briefly. “And not just for us. Maybe I’m playing dirty a little, but Roy was Wilson’s... _responsibility_. Deciding what to do with him without talking to him first- which I’m assuming you didn’t, right?”

It’s silent on the other end again and then she hears a quiet breath, not quite a sigh. “ _No_ ,” Oliver answers quietly.

“Right, and that’s not something you want to keep doing, is it?” she asks next.

“ _No_ ,” Oliver repeats faster this time, but still so quiet.

“Okay. Just apply that to...well, all of us, if it’s something that involves all of us. I know you haven’t exactly been...living...normally,” she continues, wincing a little at how awkwardly it comes out, “But now’s a good time to start trying to figure out how to interact with people again without...the rest of what you usually do to them.” She cringes at the memories, the crime scene photos from the college student massacre, the CEOs that have been put into early graves. Felicity shudders a little, trying to force the fear down. “You do that, and we’ll try to meet you halfway,” she adds after a beat, “Deal?”

“ _...Okay_ ,” Oliver eventually answers. 

Felicity’s lips twitch despite herself. “And to answer your earlier question more thoroughly,” she continues, keeping her voice down and smile fading, “Laurel got assigned to the vigilante case at the District Attorney’s office, so she’s officially working against us. Your friend Tommy hasn’t been up to anything unusual lately, though he does seem in line for a promotion at his father’s company. I don’t know if he knows what his father’s been doing, but I’m keeping an eye out for any red flags.”

It’s quiet for a beat, then, “ _Thank you_ ,” Oliver says quietly, stilted again.

Felicity’s lips curl up a tiny bit. “You’re welcome,” she returns before the call ends. She takes a big breath as the fear surfaces again, heart hammering, and closes her eyes firmly.

 _I can’t believe I actually talked to him that way. He didn’t snap at me or threaten to kill me, so...he’s making progress, at least. That’s something_ , she thinks, swallowing a little. She opens her eyes after a minute and forces herself to focus back on her screens.

\--

Oliver pulls the bluetooth out of his ear and shakes his hair out a little, looking down at it. He pockets it and walks over to his bag, crouching down and pulling the zipper open. It takes a minute of rifling but he finally finds what he’s looking for and pulls his father’s small notebook out, standing and looking around the motel room. He heads over to the nightstand and pulls the top drawer open, grabbing the pen he finds inside and flipping through the notebook until he finds an empty space, and writes:

‘ _Malcolm Merlyn_ ’

Oliver stares at it for a long moment, fingers slowly tightening around the pen-

The sharp _SNAP_ forces his attention back and he stares at the dark blue ink covering his hand, almost black, dragging his eyes back to the book after a moment. He flips it closed with his clean hand and moves back over to shove it back in his bag, then walks to the bathroom and drops the broken pen in the trash, moving to the sink to try and wash the ink off.

\-----

“Are you sure about this?” Diggle asks from her bedroom doorway.

“No,” Thea sighs as she triple checks her makeup to make sure the bags under her eyes aren’t too noticeable. She didn’t get much sleep last night. “But I’m court ordered and I’ve put it off as long as I can, including sleeping in this _morning_ because I forgot to set my _alarm_ ,” she grouches the last to herself, glaring at her reflection in her small hand mirror before the exhaustion hits her again and her shoulders slump. She snaps the compact mirror shut and sets it on her desk, grabbing her bag and heading Diggle’s way.

“What are you going to tell people about those bandages on your hands?” he asks, eyebrows rising a little as he backs up to let her out.

“Quake. Slipped and fell. Hurts to walk and carry things,” Thea answers, short and succinct. Diggle nods as she closes her bedroom door and they both head for the stairs, stopping when they catch sight of her mother hurrying up them onto the landing while fixing an earring.

“ _Thea_ ,” her mother lets out, coming to a stop too as their eyes meet, her mother’s widening a little.

Thea swallows, fingers curling around her bag straps and at her side. 

They stare at one another for what feels like a decade before her mother asks, “Thea? Sweetheart, what’s wrong? You seem…” she trails off, lips curling down in a worried frown.

Thea takes a steadying breath, or tries to, but it just feels like the water’s trying to rise above her head again. “I know,” she finally gets out, and her mother pauses.

“‘Know’?” Moira asks, brows drawing together, “Know what?”

“ _I know, mom_ ,” Thea repeats firmly. 

Her mother stills, this time completely different from a minute ago, somehow. It’s just so- _obvious_ now that Thea knows, which just makes it all worse. “Thea-...” Moira trails off, swallowing before visibly steeling herself, “Malcolm, he-”

“I know,” Thea cuts her off quietly, her own brows drawing together, “Ollie...told me.”

Her mother’s eyes widen. “He knows?” Thea nods and her mother’s eyes shift away, searching the wood paneling. Now that Thea has a moment to really look at her, she can see the bags under her mother’s own eyes, well hidden, but not as much up this close. Her mother steels herself again and takes a breath. “I see,” she says, dragging her eyes back. “Thea- we should...talk.”

“I have to go,” Thea says after a beat, taking a breath of her own, “Tonight...? Maybe?” she tries. Her mother’s firm expression melts away and she nods. Thea returns it before making her feet move after a minute, continuing past her to and down the stairs with Diggle in tow. She only takes another breath once they’re out the door and in the sunlight, closing her eyes briefly to try and push down- _everything_ , or let it go, for now.

 _Tonight_ , she thinks firmly, opening her eyes.

She gets in the car after Diggle opens the back door for her, sees the empathetic smile on his face on the way in. He closes the door after her and she reaches for her seatbelt, buckling it in before digging out the burner phone and sending Felicity a text. The phone vibrates with a number in reply and she copies it into a new text while Diggle gets in and starts the car, sending:

‘ _Told mom we know. Talking tonight. Can you come?_ ’

It takes a few minutes before she gets a reply, the car pulling down the drive as the pressure in her chest mounts tighter and _tighter_ until she reads:

‘ _Time?_ ’

Thea blows it all out on a breath, letting her head drop back for a moment before lifting it again and tapping out an answer.

The rest of the ride is quiet. She’s tempted to text Ollie again, but doesn’t, just looks out the window and watches the world go by, the trees and fields and orchards, then other cars, buildings, skyscrapers. There’s people everywhere, just going about their day like they don’t have a care in the world, or like they know where they stand, with their friends, their family, themselves.

The car slows to a stop in front of the District Attorney’s Office and Thea drags her eyes away, unbuckling her seatbelt and making herself take one more breath.

She got notified about C.N.R.I. being temporarily housed in the District Attorney building, but…

She takes another breath as she stares up at it out the window, the dark red brick almost brown in the sunlight, anxiety trying to spike through her system.

“You’ll be fine,” Diggle says, snapping her attention back. He smiles at her over the back of the seat. “I’ll be out here the whole time, you just call or text if you need me. Unless you want me to come in with you?”

Thea looks back to the building after a moment, shaking her head a little. “No. No, it’s fine. I’ve got this,” she replies, and tries to make herself believe it. She gets the back door open and steps out, closing it behind her and making herself walk forward. She looks back when she hears Diggle’s car pull away from the curb, stands long enough to see him head over to the parking area around the side and then looks back to the building, squaring her shoulders. She takes a step-

“Thea?” Tommy’s voice calls, and she freezes, turning around.

Tommy and Laurel stare back, Laurel pausing in closing the passenger door of his car. She nudges it the rest of the way closed.

“...Hi,” Thea says, cringing internally, “Lunch?”

“We just got back,” Laurel answers, sounding a little awkward herself, though not nearly as much. It just makes Thea cringe harder inside.

“Are you okay? What happened to your hands?” Tommy asks, quickly hurrying over as he takes in the bandages peeking out from beneath her coat sleeves, “Your mom said you were _okay_.” His concerned eyes flick up to hers, searching.

“Quake,” Thea forces herself to answer, trying to shove the memories tied to them down as she looks up at him, “After. My friends and I went to see the damage, see if we could help. I was stupid, slipped. It’s minor. I’m fine.” Thea swallows the guilt at the concern on his face, at knowing- _God, he doesn’t know_ , she thinks, eyes widening a little, _He doesn’t know about Ollie. He doesn’t know about any of it-...hopefully_. She’s not sure what she’ll do if she finds out-...Tommy’s involved with his father. _God, his father_.

Her fingers curl before she can stop herself and she takes a breath and a step back. “I have to get to work,” she says, gesturing back at the building and chancing a glance at Laurel, who’s brows are drawn together in something like concern while simultaneously looking like she’s trying to figure Thea out. It’s not a comfortable feeling. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” Tommy replies, brows still drawn together, “Are you _sure_ you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Thea answers, trying for a smile, “Just hard to sleep with the inconvenience.”

“Okay…” Tommy returns, not sounding or looking entirely convinced.

“I’ll walk you inside,” Laurel finally says, smiling over at Tommy and giving the corner of his mouth a kiss in passing. His attention shifts to Laurel and Thea takes a breath, tries to keep it steady through the mild panic. She knew this was going to happen at some point, it’s impossible for her and Laurel to not see each other here, but-

She remembers where Diggle’s parked, becomes hyper aware of the burner phone in her pocket linking her to her brother. It’s silly, it’s not like he can come down here and _help_ , but...knowing she can talk to him in some form...

The pressure in her chest eases a bit and she breathes a little easier.

“Bye, Tommy,” Laurel says as she stops next to Thea, giving him a little wave. Tommy smiles and gives a little wave back before looking to Thea, blue eyes going concerned again before he turns and heads back for his car. They both watch him start it and go with another little wave through the window, the car turning right at the end of the block. “The quake?” Laurel asks quieter, finally shifting her gaze over.

Thea makes herself look back and hold it, fingers curling again. She doesn’t answer and Laurel turns for the building, Thea moving to follow. They walk inside, Laurel getting the door for her and Thea giving her a quiet, “Thanks,” as she passes. They walk for a moment in uncomfortable silence through the lobby before Laurel speaks up again, stopping them near an empty alcove in a quieter hallway.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about Malcolm Merlyn,” she says.

Thea stills and Laurel catches it, head turning a little more towards her. Thea makes herself keep her breathing steady. “What about him?” she asks quieter, keeping her eyes away.

“You _know_ something’s going on with him,” Laurel says, studying her.

 _That’s an understatement_ , Thea thinks, just a hint hysterically. “And you want me to tell you,” she surmises.

“It’d save us both a lot of time,” Laurel replies, raising a brow.

Thea takes a breath and lets it out on a quiet sigh, searching the floor. She finally shifts her eyes up. “Laurel, I _promise_ I mean it when I say it’s-...” she shakes her head a little, eyes dropping again. She closes them and then forces them open and back up, finds Laurel’s brown eyes intent, concerned, mostly the former, chasing a lead, like her father.

 _She won’t let this go, will she_ , Thea thinks, brows drawing up together.

“You shouldn’t get involved,” Thea continues, lowering her voice a little more and glancing around. 

Laurel’s brows draw together. “You sound like my father,” she says more sternly.

“He’s right,” Thea returns. Laurel’s brows draw a little more together. “There’s…” Thea makes a quiet, frustrated sound in the back of her throat, teeth gritting a little. It’s hard to say anything without giving anything _away_. _How do they all do this?_ she wonders. “There’s a lot...going on,” she tries slowly, watching Laurel watch her, “A lot. And you were right, it’s dangerous.” Laurel’s lips flatten and Thea continues. “I don’t want you get to get hurt,” she says honestly, brows drawing up again.

Laurel studies her for a moment. “I don’t want you to get hurt either, Thea,” Laurel says, the intensity in her expression easing away briefly before it comes back again, “But doing what’s right means...I can’t stop. I _have_ to find the truth. Are _you_ be able to let it go?”

Thea pauses at that, then lets out a sigh, shaking her head. “No,” she answers honestly, defeated, “But part of me wishes I had.”

Laurel studies her again. They both glance at the other people that pass by, but they’re all too busy with their case files and briefcases to pay them any mind, all trying to get somewhere, most in a hurry. “You’re not going to tell me what’s going on, are you,” Laurel finally says, drawing her eyes back.

Thea shakes her head again. “It’s like you told me. You think you know, but you don’t, and when you find out…” Because it really only is a matter of _when_. Laurel _isn’t_ going to let this go until she knows the truth, and that’s-...that’s going to hurt her, maybe as badly as it hurt Thea. Thea could just tell her, but…

 _Mom, and Ollie_ , she thinks, lips pressing firmly together. Either Laurel will try to arrest them and lock them away, or she’ll-...god, she’ll be so _angry_. She has a _right_ to know, but at the same time...Thea doesn’t know how to handle this, if she should even be the one to. Maybe she should leave it to Ollie, or Wilson.

Laurel’s eyes narrow a little but she doesn’t say anything for a moment, then squares her shoulders and stands up straighter. “Whatever it is, I can handle it, and if knowing helps get the vigilantes off the streets, then I _will_ handle it. You’re only delaying the inevitable.”

Thea’s fingers curl tighter and she holds Laurel’s stare until Laurel eventually turns and keeps walking, Thea watching her go.

 _Maybe_ , Thea thinks, ignoring the pain in her palms, _But I can’t...do the alternative_. She can’t give her brother up like that, she can’t watch her mother- her family _torn away_ from her again. It’s like Joe said, she can’t-

 _Is this what it was like for you, mom?_ she thinks, throat going a little tight while her chest gives a squeeze. It aches, having to keep the lies, having to face the possibility that her family is in...danger, at _risk_ , could be taken away from her again. The thought alone-

Her resolve hardens all over again and Thea takes a slower breath, brows lowering. She starts walking forward. It’s the only direction to go.

\-----

“Oliver called earlier,” Felicity says quietly while wrapping up the last system’s check she has to do before she can go home, or to their second base. She hasn’t been spending a lot of time at home lately. She double checks to make sure her office door is shut this time. “He was more subdued than yesterday. I think he misses Wilson.”

Shado hums an affirmative in her ear through the bluetooth and Felicity pauses, brows furrowing. 

“I still don’t get it. You and Oliver are about the same age, right? So how’d he end up with Wilson?” she asks, “Wilson’s so... _Wilson_. I’d take you over him any day.” She pauses again, stilling. “Not that I mean- I didn’t-” She stops and blows out a breath to Shado’s amused huff.

“ _We are a few months apart_ ,” Shado confirms, “ _And at first...I think it started out that way between us, but…_ ”

Felicity taps out a few more things before she starts closing out of a few programs, checking the diagnostics. “Do you wish it’d stayed that way?” she asks after a few moments when Shado doesn’t continue, then stills and nearly smacks herself in the face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“ _It’s fine_ ,” Shado cuts her off gently, sounds like she’s smiling, “ _And maybe I used to, but that time has long past. Maybe if Oliver and I had met first...but even then, I’m not sure_.”

“I just can’t figure it out,” Felicity confesses, “It’s like a puzzle I just can’t solve and I _hate_ not being able to solve puzzles. Oliver was, what, twenty-two when you were all on the island? And that would’ve made Wilson…” She counts backwards, frowning in thought. “Thirty-four? Almost thirty-five? That’s quite a difference. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just...they seem like they would’ve been two _completely_ different people. _Now_ , though...” she trails off. 

She remembers the photos she’d found of Oliver before the Gambit, comparing them to who he is now. In five years he went from a carefree, no path, rich socialite to a _master assassin_ who has a hard time socializing _period_ , like his whole... _everything_ was flipped on its head. It’s...Felicity’s had a hard time wrapping her head around that too, when she’s actually stopped to think about it. She can only imagine what it’s been like for his sister and mother, and _Mr. Steele_ still doesn’t even know. 

It’s terrifying, too, to imagine the League having that much sway over someone.

She shudders.

“ _They were_ ,” Shado agrees, drawing Felicity out of her thoughts, her own tone going thoughtful, idle with it, “ _But like you said, now they’re not, and maybe that’s why. Oliver’s always had a darkness inside him, we all do, but the island made you face things you didn’t realize were there. I think Slade brought it out first_.”

“So he...what, imprinted?” Felicity asks after a beat, brows drawing together.

Shado huffs another laugh across the line. “ _No_ ,” she answers, a smile in her voice again, “ _What I mean is, Slade is the one who began to shape Oliver into someone that could survive on the island first, and whatever he started becoming…_ ” Felicity can almost picture Shado shrugging.

“‘Like calls to like’, is what you’re saying,” Felicity says, “Mostly. Are _you_ like them?”

“ _You’ve never seen me fight_ ,” Shado jokes a little.

“You know what I mean,” Felicity replies, lips curling up briefly.

“ _I do what I need to_ ,” Shado answers slower after a beat, “ _Slade and Oliver are different._ ”

“You mean they... _like_ it?” Felicity asks, brows drawing lower together. She can see that, them liking all the...killing. She shudders a little again.

“ _I can’t say for sure_ ,” Shado replies.

Felicity’s quiet for a moment before saying, “The fact that I can picture it is probably answer enough.” 

She can still remember Oliver standing in the car headlights outside the demolished A.R.G.U.S. building, holding his sister and covered in blood, in his hair, on his face, all over his clothes and hands. Shado’s right, they are different. Wilson and Oliver have an...edge to them, some... _vibe_ Felicity gets around them that she doesn’t get around Shado, that brings that same fear up in her that she got when talking to Oliver earlier. They feel like...predators, like _they’re_ the swords and the ones they use to fight are just extensions of that. They don’t need them, not with the mirakuru, but even without it, Felicity thinks they might…

“They scare me a little,” she confesses quietly. She tries to ignore it most of the time, but...it’s still there, her fear of Wilson, the one of Oliver.

“ _Slade won’t hurt you_ ,” Shado reassures, “ _Oliver I can’t promise, but in his right mind, he won’t either. He has no reason to._ ”

Felicity huffs a little, leaning back in her chair and staring at her screens. That doesn’t exactly make her feel comforted. The screens go dark and she sits forward after a moment, waking them up long enough to turn the system off. “ _Kujo_ and _Jaws_ ,” she mutters.

Shado breaks out into a laugh on the other end, light and open, and Felicity finds herself laughing a little too, despite everything. _It’s good_ , Felicity thinks, that even after everything Shado’s been through, everything they’re all going through now...if _Shado_ can still laugh like that, there’s...hope.

“Don’t tell either of them I said that,” Felicity adds, lips still curled up.

“ _Are you sure?_ ” Shado teases, a bigger smile in her voice now.

“No,” Felicity answers, and they laugh again.

“ _Thank you, Felicity_ ,” Shado says after they’ve calmed down.

“For what?” Felicity asks as she stands from her desk, grabbing her bag and heading for the door, shutting her office light off.

“ _For being you_ ,” Shado answers genuinely.

Felicity’s cheeks warm a little with her heart in her chest and she smiles, heading out the door.

\-----

‘ _Joe Wilson_ ’, Lance reads off his screen, eyes narrowing. 

He finally got the plate number back, had to wait most of the day because he couldn’t put it in as a priority without cause, but they finally ran it and came back with a rental place that loans cars out at the airport. After a call to them and the airport itself, he got a name, date of the rental, and the flight the kid came in on. Lance still can’t be sure it’s even the kid’s real name, but it’s _something_ to go on. He came from Australia, so Laurel was right about his accent, and if his _father_ is the ‘Ghost’ vigilante, then it’s possible-

He does a generic search and huffs a snort at the results, sitting back in his chair. He wasn’t really expecting that to work, but it was worth a shot.

If they’re both from Australia and Ghost is a soldier, then maybe…

Lance sits forward again and refines his search, pulling up the international database and running variations of ‘Joe Wilson’, ‘Joe’, and ‘Wilson’, specifically from or near Australia, then sits back again and waits.

\-----

Thea slows to a stop outside her mother’s bedroom, taking a slow breath to try and steady herself. The right door is cracked open, warm light coming through out into the hallway. It reminds her of the last time she was standing here, when she overheard the start of- a lot of this.

She grips the burner phone in her pocket tighter and makes herself reach up with her free hand, knocking quietly on the dark wood.

“ _Thea?_ ” her mother’s voice calls softly through the three inch crack, and she swallows a little before nudging the door further open and slowly stepping inside. Her mother’s sitting on the edge of her bed, facing her, still in her tan skirt and white blouse from this morning and looking more tired and exhausted than Thea saw her even then, shoulders slumped and hands folded almost anxiously in her lap, brows drawn worriedly together and dark circles more visible under her eyes in the warm lighting of the room.

Thea steps further inside and closes the door quietly behind her. They watch each other for a long moment before Moira reaches over and sets a hand on the bed next to her, raising her eyebrows a little in question. Thea takes a breath and squares her shoulders, slowly walking over and- taking a seat a couple feet away. She keeps her eyes on the floor as the silence settles in, can feel the exhausted tension in her mother nearly butting up against her own as it builds. Her mother breaks the quiet first, turning towards her.

“ _I am so sorry, Thea_ ,” she says, low and sincere and- heart broken.

Thea swallows harder and makes herself look back, turning her head. Their eyes catch, her mother’s shining more in the light, open and- sad, so sad. “Dad-?” Thea tries, but her throat goes tight.

“...Was working with Malcolm,” her mother answers anyway, brows drawing together, “But he wanted to _stop_ Malcolm when Malcolm suggested-...” she trails off, eyes dropping as her brows lower.

Thea swallows again, backs of her eyes stinging. “You helped kill all those people,” she whispers.

Her mother swallows hard, eyes closing firmly. She takes a deep breath and looks back up. “And I will have to live with that for however long I have left,” her mother returns, low and solemn. She reaches up after a moment and Thea keeps still as her mother cups her cheek in her soft, warm palm, her mother’s eyes softening. “I know, I _know_ how terrible it is, but after Robert and-...Oliver, I couldn’t...I _couldn’t let the same thing happen to you, too_.”

Thea stares back, vision starting to blur. It doesn’t make it better, if anything it makes it _worse_ , makes her feel like- Her mother did this for _her? Killed_ all those people so _she’d_ be safe? 

She catches movement over her mother’s shoulder and her eyes shift, her mother turning to look back as- Ollie quietly opens the window in the darkest corner of the room, slipping in without a sound like a shadow and just as quietly closing it behind him, barely an audible _click_. He looks exhausted too. _God, they’re all so tired_.

“ _Oliver_ ,” her mother says on a quiet rush, tensing like she’s going to stand, but she stays seated while he watches them both, green eyes glowing faintly in the shadows beneath his hood, eerie, almost otherworldly. They quickly flick around the room, to the closed bedroom doors and the curtained windows, then back before he slowly reaches up and pushes back his hood. He just as slowly walks over, stopping a few feet away, and they both stare up at him, her mother’s eyes welling and spilling over. 

Oliver’s brows slowly draw together. His mother sets her other hand down on the empty spot next to her and his eyes shift to it, then back. He doesn’t move for a minute, debating, then slowly steps closer and turns, carefully taking a seat on the edge like he might break it.

Moira looks between them, more tears slipping down her cheeks, and reaches a hand out to each of them. Thea takes one, both of them looking over at Oliver who stares down at the other, brows drawn together and lips twisted down a little, pressed firmly together like he’s conflicted. He doesn’t move for a minute, then slowly, hesitantly reaches over and finally takes it like it’s made of glass. 

His mother squeezes his hand and Oliver’s eyes shift up.

“ _Both_ of my children,” Moira says wetly, hoarsely, shoulders shaking as they start hunching up, “ _I’m so sorry_.” She squeezes her eyes shut as her head lowers, sobbing quietly, and Thea leans close, wraps an arm around her back and reaches past it to grip Oliver’s hoodie sleeve. His eyes dart up to Thea’s, red around the edges. 

It takes him a moment, like everything he does involving them, but eventually he slowly reaches around with an arm too. Their mother shakes more, cries harder between them and the three of them hold onto each other, Thea resting her chin on her mother’s shoulder and Oliver eventually resting his own on the top side of his mother’s head. His eyes shift to the framed photos on the nightstand past Thea, heart squeezing tighter in his chest at their frozen, smiling faces paired with the sound of his mother crying.

“ _I never- w-wanted this_ ,” his mother stutters out between sobs, “I just wanted to keep my family _safe_.”

Oliver and Thea hold her tighter, and Oliver manages to keep his grip from slipping into painful even through the budding rage starting past the warm heat in his chest, the same rage that’s been there since he found out the truth.

 _I’m going to kill him_ , he thinks, quiet and sure in his own head, eyes shifting up to glare at the wall as his brows lower, _No more waiting_.

\--

Their mother eventually tires herself out, sobs calming to quiet hiccups. She stays slumped between them for some time, like all her strings are cut, all the poles keeping her up, gone. She starts talking quietly after a little while, confessions of the last five years: what happened to their father, why Malcolm killed him, why she salvaged and kept the Gambit, the Glades, everything Oliver and Thea already knew, but...it sounds like things she needs to say, to explain for herself, so they listen, listen until her voice goes too hoarse to keep going and she finally reaches the end: the Glades. And then they’re all quiet again, just leaning on each other like they haven’t in- a long, long time. 

Their mother eventually sits up a little, and Oliver and Thea pull back. Oliver gets up, pausing when his mother’s hand grips his sleeve tight and swallowing a little at her wide, wet eyes staring up at him like she’s afraid he’ll go and never come back. He gently pries her fingers from his sleeve before heading over to the bathroom, grabbing some tissues before walking back and taking a seat again, offering them over. His mother’s shoulders drop again, tension cut.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, still wet and hoarse, taking and wiping at her eyes with them, her running makeup. “ _I’m so- sorry_ ,” she repeats roughly, blowing her nose quietly and then looking between them, “For _all_ of this. You should _never_ have gotten caught in the middle.” Her eyes stop on Thea and she takes her hand again, gentle and careful of the bandages, then she sets the tissues in her lap and reaches for Oliver’s, looking at him searchingly. He lets her take his hand, swallowing again when her thumb rubs over some of the small scars on it, chest tight. His mother’s eyes begin to well again and she takes a stuttery breath, looking up at each of them in turn. “ _ **I am so sorry**_.”

“Mom, we know it wasn’t your fault,” Thea replies quietly, her own voice hoarse, gripping her mother’s hand tighter and brows drawing together, “You didn’t do _any_ of that to dad, and you didn’t do _any_ of this to us. The Glades are...” She stops and swallows, eyes dropping as her brows lower. “I didn’t...I didn’t understand how you could _do_ that, and I still think it’s _wrong_ , but…” She looks back up, her own eyes red. “I _understand_ now. It’s still _wrong_ , and _**terrible**_ and I wish it’d _never happened_ , but _I-...understand why_ you did it.”

Her mother stares back, eyes wide and helpless and just as red, and Oliver makes himself speak up.

“I don’t blame you,” he says quietly. Thea and his mother’s eyes snap over, his mother’s still wide. Oliver squeezes her hand gently, careful of how much force he uses, and she grips his tightly back. She leans into his shoulder, resting her head on it, and Oliver swallows, lets his eyes shift away as the warmth in his chest goes near unbearable.

All three of them sit quietly like that for a while, just... _being_ together, then Oliver feels the burner phone vibrate in his pocket against his thigh and stills. His mother lifts her head and looks over. Oliver glances back briefly before looking away again, trying to ignore it.

“Oliver, what is it?” his mother asks quietly, Thea’s eyes shifting up to him too.

Oliver debates with himself for a minute before reaching down with his free hand and digging the phone out, flipping it open and reading the text:

‘ _Going_ ’

He swallows a little and flips the phone shut, pushing it back into his pocket. “Nothing,” he answers quietly. He chances a glance over again and sees his mother’s brows furrowed in concern, his sister studying him just past her.

“Are you sure?” his mother asks.

“He’s just missing his boyfriend,” Thea says after a moment, drawing both their eyes over. Thea smirks a little, tiny but there while Oliver’s heart beats a little harder. Thea looks to their mother. “Wilson’s out of town,” she explains.

“Oh...?” their mother asks a little stiltedly, gaze shifting back to him.

Oliver looks away again, out the windows, heart beating faster in his chest as- _embarrassment_ floods warm throughout his system. He hasn’t been embarrassed like this in _years_.

“On...business?” his mother asks haltingly. Oliver keeps his eyes away, trying to ignore the question. “Although, I can’t imagine what business he would be on.”

“Don’t know,” Thea replies, tone almost sly, “Ollie won’t say.”

“It’s private,” he says quietly, firmly.

“Even from us?” his mother asks.

Oliver looks over briefly, meets both their eyes then looks away again, keeping quiet.

“Guess so,” his sister teases a little. It’s-...strange, but good to hear, even while his thoughts start drifting miles away.

\-----

Slade stares across the street at the house through the window, taking a breath. He lets himself linger in the car another minute, feels for any vibration from his phone in his pocket before finally making himself push the door open and get out, stepping into the blazing sun and closing the door behind him. He’s been spoiled by Oliver’s city; he almost forgot how hot it was here. 

His fingers curl a little and he takes another breath, brows lowering as he makes himself cross the street.

Adeline still lives in the same neighbourhood, in the same house they shared years ago. The red brick is still dark, the black roof still a heat magnet, the grass in the yard trimmed and the bushes not-quite overgrown. The car in the short driveway on the side is new, some mid-sized, teal-green thing, but everything else looks the same.

He walks around the side, up to the little stone pathway that snakes its way to the front steps and then up those to under the small cover and into the shade, trying to ignore the old deja vu, the memories. They’re all old and worn, from a lifetime ago, almost two. Walking up these steps in the dead of night, trying not to wake Adeline, then Adeline and Joe, down them in the early morning, sometimes reversed, rarely during the day. He raises his fist and makes himself knock on the door. He doesn’t hear anything for a minute, then steps and a lock and the door pulls open. His eyes find Adeline’s blue ones, still a deeper blue than the sky, dark brown hair hanging down over her shoulders over a lavender shirt and dark blue jeans. 

She stares up at him a minute, brows low. “I told Joe not to tell you,” she says, as short and clipped as she was during their brief phone call, “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised he did. He’s as stubborn as we are.”

Slade takes a breath, fingers curling and uncurling a little. “He’s a good kid. You raised him well.”

Adeline snorts faintly, looking away. “Somehow.” She looks back up at him, then steps back. Slade steels himself and steps inside, closing the door behind him. “I warned him not to go after you,” Adeline continues, crossing her arms and regarding him. Slade reaches up and takes his sunglasses off, and her eyes narrow a little when she sees his eye. “But he’s not like us. He’s a sweet boy, and so is Grant.”

Slade’s breath catches in his chest while his heart beats harder and he makes himself keep his breathing even, lips pressing together. Adeline watches him another minute before turning and heading down the right hall, stopping and giving him a pointed look when he moves to follow. He sighs and bends down, getting his boots off first. 

She leads them into the kitchen, changed, but still mostly the same. There’s a small plant on the windowsill in front of the open blinds above the wide sink, there’s pictures up in a few places that weren’t there before, floral and decorative, but the counters are still dark granite, the wood a warm, rich red that matches the brick outside. His eye catches on the photos on the fridge, the little magnets of puppies and kittens and lizards, breath stilling at the hand drawn ones, shaky lines in crayon and colored pencil, the photos of Adeline, Joe, and- what must be Grant. He looks more like Adeline than Joe does, minus the brown eyes. Straight brown hair and lighter skin.

“He’s out back,” Adeline breaks him out of his thoughts. Slade drags his gaze away, over to her. She’s watching him again, then her eyes shift to the window and Slade’s follow, stilling all over again.

Grant’s playing on a jungle gym out in the yard, climbing up the wood ladder before sliding down the green slide, laughing to himself when he nearly tumbles onto the grass. Slade can hear it even from this far and it makes his heart beat faster, his fingers curl.

“He’ll be coming in soon,” Adeline says quieter. Slade keeps his eyes out the window, watches Grant climb the ladder again to do it all over. “You’re just a friend from work,” she says firmly. 

Slade’s fingers curl tighter while his jaw clenches but he nods, brows lowering. “It’s better that way,” he says quietly, a little rough. He clears it.

It’s quiet for a minute.

“A.S.I.S. contacted me,” Adeline breaks it. Slade looks over and she stares back, brows low and furrowed a little. “Slade, what the hell are you doing?”

“Did you tell them I was coming?” he asks low instead of answering, focusing his hearing. There’s no other footsteps, no movement. If this is an ambush of some kind, they’re keeping their distance. Even if they aren’t here, they already know he’s back. It’s impossible for them not to.

Adeline sighs, looking out the window again. “ _No_ , against my better judgement. Told’em to fuck off. I’ve got better things to do than get involved in whatever shit you’re in.” Slade nods and looks out the window, pausing when she says, “You seem different though. Calmer.”

He looks back, frowning a little.

Adeline studies him again, then raises a brow.

Slade looks away, watches Grant on the swings. 

He’s small. Slade was expecting it, he’s only five, but actually _seeing_ him in person is...different. It’s always been different, for-...both his sons. He missed a lot of Joe growing up, and he’ll miss even more of Grant doing it, which makes something deep in him _ache_ , so he takes the time to remember this moment, standing in this kitchen again and staring out the window, watching his...son play in the yard.

“What about that other one in America?” Adeline asks after a minute, drawing Slade out of his thoughts. He looks over and Adeline stares back, arms still crossed. “You’ve both been on the news once or twice. It’s not everyday a mass murdering, vigilante duo crops up.”

Slade sighs and looks back out the window. “Thought you didn’t want to get involved.”

“I’m just wondering if he knows what he’s getting into, working with you,” she says dryly, looking out the window too before adding seriously, “And I need to know he’s not going to show up here, for whatever reason. That none of the shit you’re doing is going to follow you here.”

Slade shakes his head, looking over at her again and holding her hard stare when she looks back. “No,” he answers firmly, “He’s not coming here. None of it is.”

Adeline watches him for a long minute, until she’s satisfied or finds whatever she’s looking for, then nods once, sharply. She uncrosses her arms and turns, heading over to the back slider door around the counter and pulling it open. “ _Grant!_ ” she calls, “ _Time to come in!_ ”

Slade’s eyes snap back to the window while his heart beats faster, watches Grant run to the door, out of sight, and tries not to- run out the front door himself. He hears Grant clamber into the house, shuffling, quiet laughing and Grant’s high voice talking with Adeline’s lower one, saying something about a dinosaur and a spaceship. Then he rounds the counter corner with Adeline behind him and stills, his and Slade’s eyes meeting. They both stare at one another, Grant blinking while Slade tries to get a grip on his galloping heartbeat. Slade takes a slow, steadying breath, fingers curled tight, and slowly lowers himself down into a crouch, resting a forearm on his thigh.

“Hello,” he says a little rough, clears his throat quietly, “My name is Slade. I’m a friend of your mother’s.”

Grant looks back up at Adeline, who tilts her head a little with a small smile and an encouraging, “Grant, what do we say?” Grant looks back over for a minute and then walks closer and offers his hand out, and Slade stills.

“Hi. I’m Grant,” Grant says, smiling wide and open, a few of his tiny teeth missing.

Slade’s chest squeezes and his throat goes tight. He reaches forward slowly, and gently, with more care than he’s given a lot of things in the past five years, lightly takes his hand and gives it a small shake. It feels like holding sunlight, the same way it did with Joe, some unnamable, unfathomable thing Slade could never put a word to for how- _important_ it is, how much he’d do to keep it safe.

“Nice to meet you,” Slade says quieter, rougher, glancing up briefly at Adeline watching them before his eyes drop back down to Grant’s brown ones like magnets, almost the same color as his, but lighter. Slade tries to just- keep breathing.

It’s only been two minutes, but he knows it just like he knew it with Joe the instant he saw him: Slade would do anything for him, even if Grant never knows why.

\-----

Oliver stares out at the city in the direction of Merlyn Global, trying to ignore the chatter in his ear. Smoak’s been going on about...something, some program in Merlyn’s system that’s making it harder to dig deeper into his files. Oliver shifts, about to run for the next rooftop when the burner phone vibrates in his pocket and he stills, digging it out.

‘ _Leaving tomorrow_ ’

Oliver stares a moment, then flinches faintly when the phone vibrates again, this time with a call. He hesitates briefly, debating with himself before reaching up to pull the bluetooth out and pocketing it, hitting ‘answer’ and bringing the phone to his ear. There’s nothing but quiet breathing on the other end. Oliver waits a minute before saying quietly, “Slade.”

There’s a rush of breath, then, “ _I saw him_.”

Oliver’s grip tightens a little on the phone, eyes dropping, forces his thoughts of _Malcolm_ away and focuses on Slade. “Are you okay?” he asks quieter, searching the rooftop cement. He hears Slade take a breath.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Slade lets out. He’s quiet for a few moments before adding, “ _No. Both_.”

Oliver’s lips press together and he takes a breath of his own, opens his mouth- then closes it, doesn’t say what he was going to, doesn’t ask if Slade _is_ staying there. He doesn’t want to know. “How was he?” he asks instead, a little strained, clears his throat quietly.

“ _Small_ ,” Slade answers, adds after a beat, “ _Bright. I don’t know how he came from me_.”

That makes Oliver pause, then let out a breath. “You were never as bad as you thought you were,” he whispers, backs of his eyes stinging a little. 

Slade was blunt and hard, but he was never-... _bad_. He helped train Oliver past when he needed to, protected Joe from him, came _here_ to Starling City just to keep a years old promise. Oliver still doesn’t feel like he deserves it, because what has _he_ done? Let himself be turned into something else, tried to kill his mother and his sister, his _family_ , tried to kill Slade. Oliver just feels _selfish, again_ , for trying to hold onto him, and wants to push him away again, tell him to stay where he is and _never come back_. There’s nothing good for him here.

Slade snorts, quiet and derisive, jerking him out of his spiraling thoughts. “ _I’m a killer._ ”

“That makes you bad?” Oliver asks quietly.

Slade’s silent for a minute, then lets out another breath. “ _Doesn’t make me good_.”

 _Makes you better than I am_ , Oliver thinks, brows drawing low together, but he doesn’t say it. 

They’re both quiet again. Oliver feels that- _pull_ , the _want_ to have Slade here, somewhere close, somewhere Oliver can see him, touch him, and he bites the inside of his cheek, drags his eyes up from the roof and looks out at the city again. He forces himself to focus on Merlyn, the rage, the determination to do what he needs to.

“I’m going after Malcolm,” he says, low and firm.

“ _Are you sure?_ ” Slade asks sharper.

Oliver takes a breath, remembers his mother and sister from earlier and nods. “I need to.”

Slade’s quiet a beat before saying, “ _Be careful_ ,” lower, quieter, “ _You get killed and I’ll kill you_.”

“You doubt I’ll win?” Oliver returns, quiet too. It might’ve been a joke in some other life, but he’s not sure he really knows how to joke and tease anymore, like Thea had earlier.

“ _I doubt where your head’s at_ ,” Slade answers.

“I can handle Malcolm,” Oliver grits quietly, grip tightening on the phone again.

“ _And if he throws your friend at you?_ ” Slade counters.

Oliver’s lips press together and he closes his eyes briefly before opening them again, glaring out at the city towards Malcolm’s building. “Tommy can’t save him,” he says low. Oliver suspects that’s part of why Shado stalled him from going the first time when he found out everything initially, to try and give him time to really think about what he’d be doing, killing his old, best friend’s father. But Malcolm has dug his grave, and now Oliver needs him to lie in it. He _deserves_ to. Maybe that makes Oliver worse than he thought, but it’s justice, League justice. _Malcolm deserves to die_.

“I need to go,” he says quietly after a minute, fingers curling a little, can feel the restlessness settling in to move, to do what he’s decided.

“ _I’ll text you in an hour_ ,” Slade says.

Oliver sighs quietly, conceding, “Fine.” 

They both linger for a moment, some tension filling the silence before Oliver lowers the phone and makes himself hang up, chest aching. He flips it closed and shoves it in his pocket. 

He focuses and sprints forward, jumping at the edge of the roof and landing on the next, keeps going and going until Merlyn Global starts towering closer, black glass reflecting the city lights in the night, yellows and white. He’s so focused on it, he doesn’t see the person standing on the next roof until he’s landed, a couple away from Merlyn’s building, jerking to a sharp stop and tensing as his senses focus. 

They’re standing at the far edge opposite, back to him and hands crossed at their lower back. Oliver frowns a little beneath his bandana, brows lowering as he takes them in. They’re wearing a black suit of some kind, have the build of a man, dark brown hair short at the back and sides and longer on top, strands swaying gently in the summer breeze-

His eyes catch on a gold ring on one of their fingers and he freezes, breath catching.

“Hello, Al Sah-him,” the man says.

Oliver stares, heart and thoughts stilling in his chest with his breath as Ra’s slowly turns around, green eyes dark and smiling in the night.

“ _Ra’s_ ,” Oliver lets out on a breath, _punched_ out of him.

Ra’s’ lips curl up a little more. “It has been some time.”

Oliver keeps staring, can’t do much else, eyes wide while Ra’s watches him back, still smiling like the devil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Nother doodle;
> 
>   
> Here I was panicking I was taking a decade but it's only been 5 days _pffff_


	35. Choice

Oliver stares dumbly at Ra’s for another moment before training kicks in through the growing static and he quickly drops to a knee and bows his head low. He squeezes his eyes shut through the- _shame_ , shame at doing this like it’s still instinct, fingers curling into tight fists and knuckles pressing hard to the cement. He’s about to raise his head, go against what’s been ingrained in him but Ra’s beats him to it:

“Rise,” Ra’s says, calm and patient as always, and Oliver gets to his feet, keeping his eyes lowered. He forces them up after a moment and Ra’s is still smiling, almost amused, but that can’t be it. That’s never it. Ra’s walks closer, hands still crossed at his lower back, comes to a stop five feet away and looks at him, studies him, appraises him, lips still curved up a little but it doesn’t reach his focused eyes.

“You have fallen far since leaving my side, Al Sah-him,” he says, and regardless of how long Oliver’s been in the city, how much he’s changed, the words still hit him like a punch to the chest, make the shame he’d felt with Waller rise up like a tide, almost higher than the one he feels for obeying, ready to swallow him whole.

Oliver’s brows lower but he keeps his eyes from dropping with it, keeps his gaze on Ra’s’.

“Or should I call you ‘Oliver Queen’, now?” Ra’s adds.

Oliver’s fingers curl tighter, just shy of breaking through his gloves. It’s quiet for a tense minute, Oliver debating speaking, out of turn, without permission. He takes a slow breath. “Are you here for me?” he finally asks quietly, barely above a whisper.

Ra’s’ eyebrows twitch up a little, looking faintly amused again. “Not yet,” he answers, “Tomorrow, after sun down. Tonight, I am here to see my pupil.”

Oliver’s chest squeezes at the monicker and he closes his eyes firmly, briefly, lowering his head a little. “I am sorry,” he says, still quiet, the Al Sah-him part of him cringing internally, “I could not do what you asked of me.”

“No, you could not,” Ra’s says more seriously, and Oliver’s eyes open, staring across at him. Ra’s looks solemnly back. “Are you prepared to accept the consequences?”

Oliver stills. He thinks of his mother, his sister, Smoak, Diggle, Harper, Joe, Shado...Slade, what he’d decided, and closes his eyes again firmly, taking a breath and stepping off the edge of the cliff. “I’m staying here,” he forces out.

Ra’s regards him for a long moment before turning and pacing away, Oliver’s attention snapping back like a rubberband, focusing on Ra’s like a single point. Ra’s doesn’t say anything for a minute, just looks out at the city while the growing tension in the air tightens Oliver’s shoulders, Ra’s’ hands still crossed at his lower back, looking like he has all the time in the world. He does.

“I could not understand, at first,” Ra’s starts, Oliver watching his back closely, “You were near perfect. One more trial, and you would have reached completion. Five years of training, all brought to ruin. I could not understand what made the Al Sah-him I forged falter for this long, remain here and become changed this much.”

Oliver’s heart beats faster, fear and anxiety spiking with it.

_Does he know?_

“Your mother and your sister, I thought they were the reason, but they were only part of it…” Ra’s trails off and looks back at him over his shoulder, gaze steady, calculating. Oliver freezes. “Weren’t they?”

He knows.

Oliver takes a slow, steadying breath, but it doesn’t do much.

“Who could make the weapon I forged linger for so long in this city he had distanced himself from to the point of indifference?” Ra’s asks rhetorically, turning and walking back towards him, each step and the closing distance like a noose tightening around his throat, “But then I learned, it was not just your mother and your sister you had attachments to that are in this city.”

Ra’s comes to a stop a few feet away, closer than the first time, and Oliver can’t look away from his dark green eyes, more earthy compared to his own, deeper with Ra’s’ age and knowledge, all the things he’s seen and knows. It’s paralyzing for most. For Oliver, it was never like that, never terrifying, until now.

“Gulong Shado, and Slade Wilson,” Ra’s states, and Oliver’s eyes widen a little. Ra’s’ lips press together briefly while he tilts his head, still studying him. “Both found after being lost in the China Sea around the time you were, and both booked flights here.” Ra’s’ eyes narrow a fraction. “Neither would have been people your former self would have come to know, but on Lian Yu…” he trails off again, letting the implication settle between them like a feather, like an insurmountable weight, heavy and damning.

Ra’s doesn’t say anything more, but he doesn’t have to. The silence presses at Oliver like accusation, increases the pressure in his chest and makes his heartbeat wild and erratic. He’s barely keeping his breathing steady by willpower alone, trying to focus on it instead of the-... _fear_.

 _Ra’s knows_. Maybe not everything, but enough to put Shado and Slade in danger, their families. Oliver’s put all of them at risk.

“Please,” he begs quietly, can’t do much else, “Leave them out of it.”

“They involved themselves,” Ra’s returns, still watching him closely, “And you allowed them to effect you. And now here you are, playing vigilante to their tune, trying to change one city when you’ve changed _countries_.” Ra’s’ lips press together again in a disapproving line. “You have allowed them and yourself to become too involved. It is too late to go back.”

Oliver’s heart beats harder, feels both- scolded and threatened, like a child that’s misbehaved and a weapon that’s misfired, become obsolete by its own doing. He feels like he’s coming undone, hot-cold all over. “ _Please_ ,” he repeats firmer, searching Ra’s steady gaze, “I will do anything.”

“You have nothing to bargain,” Ra’s counters, lowering his head a little. They watch one another for a long moment before Ra’s turns away again, leaving Oliver to stare at his back, feeling bereft, searching it for answers, a way out of this for his- friends, for their families. “I know my daughter has plans for you,” Ra’s says, snapping his focus back, “Though I do not know what they are, much as she does not know mine. That is why I have allowed you to linger here, to see how her plans would unfold. But they have not.” He turns back and his heavy gaze pins Oliver in place. “You _will_ return to Nanda Parbat and face League justice for your betrayal and your failures, Al Sah-him. This is unavoidable.”

Oliver takes a shaky breath, fingers curled tight at his sides. “And the others?” he makes himself ask.

Ra’s watches him for another long moment before something in his expression...lessens, the tension easing out of the air a bit. “I am not without compassion,” Ra’s starts, walking closer again, “I will not involve your ‘friends’, nor their family, if you come without hesitation, regardless of their wishes or my daughter’s. Should they interfere, I cannot promise measures will not be taken.”

Oliver swallows, eyes dropping as he lowers his head a little, processing. A hand gripping his shoulder makes his eyes snap up and Ra’s takes a step closer, eyes no longer hard or cold, but warm and familiar...sad. The same eyes that had looked on him with pride, with care, almost, during his training for the past five years. He wasn’t a father. He was a teacher, an instructor, almost a friend, but…

Ra’s was like Yao Fei, older and wiser than Oliver in a way different from Slade, fatherly, where Slade wasn’t. Slade treats him more like an equal, but Ra’s really treated him like a student, with discipline and patience and...a kind of care, not soft, but he always knew when to give Oliver time, and he also knew when to push. He was a guide, and a savior, the person who gave him a new life and taught him the things he needed to know to thrive in it. Even with...everything, the threat Ra’s represents and the resolve Oliver had to stay here, to fight the League, none of it...makes it easy to turn his back on the man who _saved_ his life and gave him a second one, especially when that man is standing not three feet from him.

“Do not make me involve children, Al Sah-him,” Ra’s says quieter, and Oliver’s breath stills in his lungs, eyes widening a fraction, “Come with me, as you should, and leave this city behind as it was meant to be. You are not a part of it, you have not been since Oliver Queen died. You run around its dark corners and alleys hoping for change and leaving blood in your wake, a ghost haunting brick and steel, but nothing more. You were meant for more, you and I made it so, but you must face the consequences of your failings. You cannot fight the League,” he adds, expression hardening a little again, “Much as you might wish to remain. You and I both know this.”

Oliver’s quiet a minute, still trying to process through everything, failing to, eyes searching Ra’s sure ones. He needs more time. But even without it...the inevitability is already sinking into him, the...hopelessness. It’s starting to feel like a foregone conclusion, that this is always the way it was going to go. “And Malcolm Merlyn?” Oliver finally manages to get out, voice rough, trying to focus on the one thing he hopefully _can_ do something about.

Ra’s leans away, letting go of his shoulder, and Oliver feels bereft again. Ra’s turns a little to look over at Merlyn Global’s towering black glass and scarce office lights lit up in the middle-upper floors. “The League is coming for him, as well,” he answers, turning back, “He will pay for the destruction he has caused without League sanction.”

Oliver takes a breath as his eyes lower and his fists curl tighter. That’s something, at least. Ra’s grips his shoulder again and Oliver tries to resist lowering his head like a submissive pawn, not that it makes much difference now. He already kneeled on instinct, feels the urge to give in to Ra’s period. He thought he’d distanced himself from it, but he... _hasn’t_ , not enough.

He grits his teeth.

And he can’t...

 _I can’t stay and fight_ , he thinks, lips pressing firmly together while his brows draw together, reality sinking around him like a crushing weight, _There is no fighting this_.

He can’t stay here any longer.

The burner phone feels like a brand in his pocket, the bluetooth not much better.

Oliver closes his eyes and takes a slow breath through the pressure and tries to- make himself...let go. _He has to let go_. He can’t fight Ra’s, he can’t fight the _League_. Ra’s was right, he can’t fight them all, even with the mirakuru. Ra’s is a ruler, maybe the most powerful in the world for as far and as quietly as his influence spreads, subtle yet...with the force of a tsunami, capable of wiping out cities, countries, more. That was never something Oliver could fight alone, or even with the small group of people Slade’s collected around them, and Oliver was...a _naive idiot_ for thinking he _could_.

Ra’s lets go of him and turns away, heading left for the edge of the roof, hands behind his back again. “You have until sun down tomorrow to say your farewells,” he says as he reaches the edge, looking back over his shoulder, “We meet at the private airstrip on the north side of the airport at nightfall. Do not fail to arrive at the appointed hour, Al Sah-him.”

Oliver swallows, fists tight as he watches Ra’s step over the edge of the roof and drop out of sight. He doesn’t bother following, just stares at the spot for a long minute before slowly dragging his eyes forward to Malcolm’s building.

There’s no point going after Malcolm anymore, everything’s already...decided.

He just...stands there, processing everything for a while. Eventually, the pressure swamping him gradually lets up enough that he can function and he reaches into his pocket and pulls the burner phone out, staring down at it. His jaw slowly tenses with his grip until he hears the plastic creak in protest and stops. He slowly relaxes his hold and pockets the phone, drawing the bluetooth out and finally slipping it back in his ear.

“ _Oliver? Oliver, are you there?_ ” Smoak’s voice comes through almost immediately, quick and urgent. He doesn’t say anything, just stares straight ahead, not thinking, not feeling. “ _Who was that you were talking to? I only got the last couple minutes of it, and you standing there like a statue,”_ she adds in a strained mutter, _“But even with all the searches I’ve been running, he’s not coming up on facial recognition at **all**_.”

Oliver stills, eyes darting around, pausing when he sees a security camera staring right back from the corner of a neighbouring building, little red light pointed at him like a sniper sight line.

“ _Don’t worry, I’m wiping the footage_ ,” Smoak says in his ear.

 _Ra’s let himself be seen_ , Oliver realizes distantly, _He let **both** of us be seen, together_.

Oliver pulls the bluetooth out, stares down at it for a long moment, listening to Smoak’s tinny voice come through with questions and questions until the pressure spikes and he crushes it, silence filling the void it makes. Al Sah-him lets the pieces fall and focuses back up on Merlyn’s building, staring up at the penthouse area for a few minutes before finally turning away and heading back the way he came, stepping over and off the edge of the roof and landing down in the alley below. He walks until his pace gradually picks up to a run, city blurring in his periphery with no idea where he’s going.

He slows to a stop after a little while, coming back to himself, finds a quiet place away from prying eyes, security cameras, and Smoak’s attention. He presses his back to a wall as his heartbeat picks up in his chest through the _empty_ and he pulls the burner phone out again, staring down at it. He slowly slides down the wall until he hits cement, pulling his knees up and squeezing his eyes shut as they start to sting, throat going tight as _everything_ -

The phone vibrates in his hand, making him jolt, eyes snapping open and heart skipping a beat. He stares at it for a long moment before pressing his forehead to it while he grits his teeth against the _tidal wave_ -

 _I can’t answer it_ , he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut tighter while his brows angle up, _**I can’t answer it.**_

 ** _I can’t stay_**.

It vibrates again, then again with a call and Oliver curls in on himself, grits his teeth harder as he shakes, an all consuming _ache_ shattering the numb in his chest and swamping him until he feels like he’s _drowning_. He was never going to get away from Ra’s or the League. He was never going to be able to fight them off and stay here. He was never going to-

 _I’m such an idiot_ , he thinks harshly as it all finally sinks in, grip tightening almost hard enough to crush the phone, _I’m such an **idiot**_.

\-----

“He’s gone dark,” Felicity reports, shoulders tense, “He crushed the bluetooth. I can still pinpoint his burner phone but I don’t have eyes and ears.”

“And that guy he was talking to still hasn’t come up on facial recognition?” Diggle asks, brows drawn together and arms crossed while he looks down at her screens, Shado doing the same at Felicity’s right.

Felicity looks up at Diggle, shaking her head before looking forward again. “No. But is it just me? Or does he look like a villain.” She gestures at the grainy security camera still of the mystery man. “With the goatee thing and the mustache thing and the... _hands-behind-my-back-mwua-ha-ha_ thing.” And _Oliver’s_ reaction, she thinks. It’s barely any footage of the two of them, just the guy walking away and dropping over the edge of the roof followed by Oliver staring blankly ahead for the next fifteen minutes. But if someone was capable of making _Oliver_ react that way, the guy must be...someone he _knows,_ maybe? But who would he know? Someone from the _League?_

Diggle raises a brow while Shado stays silent, studying the image carefully. Felicity ducks her head at Diggle’s look and shrugs a little in response.

“Where is Oliver now?” Shado asks quietly, drawing Felicity’s gaze over.

Felicity taps at her keyboard, pulling up the location. “About ten miles from where he was talking to the guy. He hasn’t moved in...a little bit.” Felicity sits back, frowning. “He did look shaken up though. Maybe he just needs some time alone from... _whatever_ happened before he comes back and we can ask him?”

Shado’s lips press together and she turns, heading over to grab her bow, quiver, and motorcycle helmet. “Can you tell me if he moves?” she asks, slipping her bluetooth in her ear.

Felicity nods and Shado darts up the stairs.

\-----

Oliver stays still for a little while, trying to breath through the pressure in his chest and ignoring the phone occasionally vibrating in his tight grip. Eventually, he finally makes himself get up, wiping at his eyes above his bandana before he starts walking, heading- He can’t go back to the motel yet, or the base. He needs to-

He slowly flips the burner phone open and checks the messages, the two missed calls and three texts, two just a question mark and the final one his name. He taps back:

‘ _Im ok_ ’

And sends it, isn’t really surprised when he gets a reply barely ten seconds later:

‘ _What happened?_ ’

Oliver pauses, takes a breath, debates over what he should do, what he should say, or...shouldn’t. He knows what he needs to do, but…

He takes another breath and sends:

‘ _Later_ ’

And flips the phone closed, ignoring the vibration of the reply and the pit in his stomach, even though it makes the ache in his chest worse. He pockets the phone and turns to start walking back in the direction of the second base, needs to-

He stills when someone steps out of the shadows up ahead at the next corner, eyes widening a fraction when he realizes who it is.

“Nyssa?” he asks quietly.

“Hello, Al Sah-him,” Nyssa returns in the same, black veil covering the lower half of her face and red and gold accented robes as dark as the shadows she crept out of, “We need to talk.”

Oliver stares another moment before curling his fingers, brows lowering as his lips press flat beneath his bandana. Nyssa’s eyes smile above her mask, secretive and knowing, and Oliver makes himself take a breath, preparing to- _obey_ , because she can’t be here for anything else.

\-----

“ _Damn it!_ ” Lance growls at the flashing red ‘ _0 Search Results_ ’ on his screen, shoving back from his desk hard enough his chair rolls back and he hits the front of the desk behind him. Empty, fortunately, because he’s not in the mood to deal with someone else’s outrage right now.

He thought he had something for a second, just a flash of something, but it was gone before he could figure out if it was a glitch or some result popping up before the computer realized it didn’t match all the criteria. Which he has run variations on. Multiple times. For multiple _countries_.

 _Nothing_.

He pulls himself forward by the edge of his desk and checks the time on the computer, then grabs his cane and shoves himself up, heading for the door. Lucas went home already, luckily, so Lance can go question Moira Queen without having to worry about anything else.

\-----

Shado lets up on the throttle and turns the bike off, letting it coast to a slow stop as she approaches Oliver’s location. Felicity said he moved just a bit before stopping again, but she doesn’t see-

A door opens around the corner ahead and Shado quickly slips off the motorcycle and pushes it right, pressing up against the near building’s wall. She peers around the corner and sees- Nyssa, the woman from the League come up a set of stairs out of a lower level in the floor, Oliver coming up after her and both of them pausing on the sidewalk. Nyssa heads away after a brief, sharp nod and disappears around a corner while Oliver stays still for a long moment, then shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets and starts walking.

Shado frowns, silently watching him go for a minute before taking a breath and getting back on her bike, waiting until she’s sure he’s far enough before turning it on and heading back for the base to Felicity’s voice reporting his movements in her ear.

\-----

“Going somewhere?” Tommy asks, quirking a brow as he leans his shoulder against the bedroom doorway, hands in his pockets.

“Just to Central City for a few days,” Laurel answers while she packs, going back and forth between her dresser and closet and the open suitcase on her bed, “Work. Something involving the particle accelerator they’re unveiling.” She glances over and huffs a little laugh at the look on Tommy’s face. “I’m not _just_ working the vigilante case. Besides, it’s been strangely quiet lately.”

“Maybe they packed up and left,” Tommy suggests lightly with a shrug, then puts on another pout, “Just like you’re doing to me.”

Laurel laughs gently, setting a last set of clothes in the suitcase before heading over and sliding her arms around his waist, leaning in close for a quick kiss. “It’s only for a few days,” she says quietly, smiling.

Tommy’s eyes warm as he smiles back, reaching up to slide his fingers back through the side of her hair. “Yeah, but a few days is going to feel like a few _years_ ,” he mopes.

Laurel huffs again, smiling more into the next kiss. “ _A few days_ ,” she reiterates, pulling away from Tommy’s lingering touches, “Promise.”

\-----

Oliver heads down the stairs for the abandoned building’s basement, picking up Smoak’s voice first to the sound of sharp, familiar stick hits:

“He’s gone _dark_ ,” she stresses, like she’s said it before, not panicked, but tense.

“He’s fine,” Joe’s grunts, “He’s more than capable, much as I hate to _admit_ it.” The sound of sticks hitting. “ _Again._ ”

There’s a pause and then the sticks start up faster, and Oliver steps down into the basement.

“There’s something _weird_ about that guy he was meeting, I _know_ it,” Smoak replies distractedly, shoulders hunched where she’s bent forward towards her screens, “And who would be meeting with him anyway? We’re kind of his only friends. If you could even call us that,” she finishes in a mutter.

Diggle spots him first, straightening and lowering his arms from next to Smoak’s desk. “Oliver.”

Everyone stops and looks over.

“Ollie!” Thea lets out as she runs over from where she was leaning back against the wall, wrapping her arms around him in a hug that makes his chest ache. Oliver hesitates briefly before slowly returning it, closing his eyes firmly and pressing his mouth to her shoulder. He tries to absorb the moment, memorize it. “Are you alright?” Thea asks urgently, pulling back enough to look up at him, worried eyes searching his face, “Smoak said you destroyed your bluetooth and she couldn’t find you on any of the cameras after you talked with some guy? Who was he?”

“I’m fine,” Oliver makes himself answer, voice a little rough, reaching up to grip her shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze before making himself let go, feels everyone’s eyes on them. He glances up when he hears a sharp shout just in time to watch Harper land hard on his back, Joe easing up out of a striking position.

“Pay attention,” Joe orders, brows angled low.

Harper grunts and rolls back to his feet, covered in a light sweat.

“Ollie, who was he?” Thea repeats, drawing his attention back.

Oliver takes a slow breath before answering, “Ra’s,” and everything stops and goes silent again.

“As in League of Assassin’s _leader_ , Ra’s?” Diggle demands, arms uncrossing again.

Oliver nods and Smoak frowns, brows drawn together. “Why did you destroy the bluetooth?” she asks.

“...Sorry,” Oliver says quietly, shifting his eyes away. Smoak doesn’t press him about it, fortunately, just frowns harder.

It’s silent for a moment.

“What did he want?” Shado asks, studying him.

Oliver looks over, reaching up to pull his bandana down. “To talk,” he answers, “He’s here for Malcolm. He knows about the Glades.”

“And you?” Shado presses, brows drawing lower together, “Is he here for you?”

Oliver takes a slow breath through the ache in his chest and nods. “He wants me to return with him to face League justice.”

“‘League justice’?” Smoak lets out, sitting up straighter, “For _what?_ _Not_ killing your family? That’s absurd!”

“I disobeyed a direct order from the head of the League,” Oliver replies sharper, staring back hard, “It’s not forgivable.” He looks back down to Thea after a moment, who’s still staring up at him, worried and concerned and making all of this- _harder_ for him to do. He drags his eyes away.

“And what about Sara?” Shado cuts in, “I thought she was going to warn you before he arrived?”

“He came alone,” Oliver answers, looking over, “The rest of the League come tomorrow.” He doesn’t tell them about Nyssa. The less people know what she’s planning, the better. And besides…

His eyes shift to Thea’s again, her’s still searching him.

Nyssa is Warith al Ghul, ‘Heir to the Demon’; he doesn’t want her anywhere near Thea.

He glances over at Harper and Joe, their training still paused.

Or Joe.

Everyone’s quiet again.

“So...what do we do?” Thea asks quietly.

Oliver looks down at her, taking a slow breath. “Nothing,” he makes himself answer, trying to fight the-... _defeat_ and _frustration_ he feels. There _isn’t_ anything they can do, just...

Thea’s brows draw sharply together. "What do you mean ‘ _nothing’?_ He’s here for _you_ , isn’t he? Don’t tell me you’re _going?_ ” she demands, voice getting louder and sharper towards the end.

Oliver’s lips press firmly together and Thea grips his shoulders tight, trying and failing to shake him.

“Ollie, you _can’t!_ ” she lets out, glaring up at him, “You can’t go with that- that- You can’t! I just got you _back_ and _I won’t let you!_ ”

“I thought you were going to stay and _fight_ ,” Joe nearly growls out.

Oliver looks over sharply, brows lowering. “Ra’s knows about you,” he says low and firm, focusing more on Joe as he adds, “He _knows_ ,” hoping Joe will get what he means. Joe stills, eyes widening a little, then looks away sharply, brows lowering and fingers curling tight around the training stick he’s still holding. Oliver looks around at the others. “He knows about all of you, your friends and family,” he explains quieter, then drops his eyes back to Thea, expression gentling a bit. “I can’t let him hurt you,” he says quieter, “I won’t let him hurt you. And he will, if I don’t go.”

Thea’s eyes start going red even as she keeps glaring up at him, gripping his shoulders tighter even though it has to hurt her hands. “ _Don’t do this_ ,” she grits out, voice rough and strained. This is the second time Oliver’s made her beg and it makes the pressure in his chest go tighter. “ _Please_. Don’t do this for me, not like mom. We can _fight_ it, I _know we can_.”

Oliver shakes his head a little, backs of his eyes stinging. “No, Thea,” he says quietly, “The League is an army trained almost as well as I am. I-... _we_ , can’t fight them.” It was always going to come to this: him having to leave, one way or another. He may have been born here a lifetime ago, more than one, but he could never have _stayed_ here. Even before Ra’s coming for him, Laurel and Lance are still hunting him. It was only a matter of time before someone caught up.

“Ollie…” Thea trails off, voice wet as her eyes shine more in the unforgiving light, “ _Please don’t go_.”

Oliver reaches up and- grips her shoulders gently, the way she’s gripping his, and pulls her in close to give her a hug. He hears her sniffle next to his ear and it- hurts. All of this _hurts_.

He closes his eyes for a minute as his throat goes tight.

But he’d take this heartbreak over the one of losing his family, of them dying because they tried fighting odds far stacked against them. He won’t let them die for him. He won’t let any of them die for him.

“I have to,” he returns quieter, feels Thea’s fingers try to dig into his shoulders like she can keep him here with willpower alone. It makes him...smile a little, of all things, even as his vision starts to blur a bit.

“ _What is going on?_ ” he hears Harper whisper.

“ _We’ll explain later_ ,” Diggle whispers tersely back.

“When are you coming back?” Thea manages to get out.

Oliver shakes his head a little. “I don’t know.”

She jerks back and punches him in the arm, more focused and sharper than the last time she did. It doesn’t hurt him, but it would hurt anyone else, and Oliver’s...proud. She’s learning. Thea glares up at him again, tears down her cheeks and eyes red. “That isn’t an _answer_ ,” she replies, voice and eyes hard, “You _are_ coming back, so _when?_ ”

Oliver takes a breath, just a little shaky, searching her intent eyes so focused on his. He doesn’t know if he _is_ coming back this time. “As soon as I can,” he answers eventually.

Thea stares hard at him for a long moment before nodding sharply and holding her hand up, pinky out. “I know it’s childish, but it worked last time, even if it took five years,” she says, more tears slipping down her cheeks, “ _Promise_ me.”

 

“ _Ollie! Where are you going?” Thea asks as she runs down the stairs, slowing to a stop and staring from his suitcase up to him as he turns around at the front door._

_“China with dad,” Oliver answers._

_“When are you coming back?” Thea asks, frowning._

_“A few weeks,” he answers, smiling back down, “Don’t worry. Pretty sure you can hold the fort while I’m gone, Speedy.”_

_Thea huffs, glaring up at him a little for the name before holding her hand up, pinky out. “Promise to come back,” she says, “ And to not get your kidney sold on Ebay.”_

_“My what?” Oliver laughs. “You’ve been watching too much tv,” he teases, but reaches up and locks his pinky with hers, shaking on it while they both smile. “Promise.” Their dad calls from behind him and they let go, Oliver giving her a wave as he heads out the door. “I’ll be back before you know it!” he calls over his shoulder._

_“You better!” Thea shouts back, “And watch out for your kidney!”_

_“My kidney and I will be fine!” he laughs_.

 

Oliver’s throat goes tight but he reaches up, locking his pinky with hers and holding her hard, determined stare. He’ll never know where she got all that fire from. Him, their mom, their dad, none of them were quite like Thea, or Thea was never quite like them. She’s…

 _Stronger_ , he thinks, lips twitching up a little. She’s stronger than all of them.

Thea’s lips curl up a tiny bit and she gives their hands a shake before reluctantly letting go, smile fading. “You promise,” she says, “You’re coming back.”

Oliver pauses, thinks of Slade for a moment and the pressure comes back, squeezes tight in his chest. He nods, since he doesn’t feel like he can talk, and finally makes himself let go after a minute, glancing over at Shado as he heads for the stairs. She watches him back, brows drawn together and looking...worried, frustrated. Oliver heads up, he needs to call-

Steps follow him and he stops at the top, looking back to find Joe coming up the stairs after him. Joe jerks his head to the left and Oliver walks down the left hall, stopping halfway and turning around. Joe doesn’t say anything for a long minute, just crosses his arms and watches him, eyes hard and conflicted. “You don’t have to do this for us,” he finally says, low and firm, brows drawing lower together.

“Slade just found him,” Oliver replies quietly, then adds firmly as his own brows lower, “He finally found you. I won’t let anyone take that away.” _Especially not me_ , he doesn’t say.

Joe watches him for another moment before taking a breath, closing his eyes and reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “ _Are_ you coming back?” he asks, brows lowering with his arm, “Or were you lying to try and make everyone feel better.”

Oliver shakes his head. “I don’t plan on dying,” he answers. He just can’t promise that he won’t.

Joe keeps watching him, brows drawing together again, and maybe for the first time, it’s with something other than hate. “What are you going to tell my father?” he asks quieter.

Oliver takes a breath through the pressure in his chest and looks away out the nearest window a few feet past Joe’s shoulder. “The truth,” he answers, lips pinching.

Slade always hated lying.

\--

He doesn’t call Slade right away, just checks his messages to see Slade’s reply of ‘ _Kid_ ’ and then pockets the phone again to deal with...later, trying to push aside the tight ache in his chest it brings. It’s early enough in the night, he...goes to see his mother first, searches each lit room in the mansion from the outside until he finds-

_Lance?_

“ _You think I don’t know?_ ” Oliver hears him through the glass of his father’s study, sees Lance stalking towards his mother with cuffs in his hand while her shoulders hunch up a little and she glares back. “ _I **know** there’s something going on with Merlyn, I **know** your son’s **alive**. I have his blood! So if you won’t answer my questions, maybe taking you to the station will get one of you to **talk!**_ ” Lance reaches forward and grips his mother’s wrist and Oliver _moves_ -

He shoves the window up hard enough to snap the lock clean off and darts in, getting a hand around Lance’s mouth from behind and twisting the hand holding the cuffs sharply until they drop to the rug, Lance’s pained shout muffled against his gloved palm as his cane swings back. Oliver ignores the hit to his side and turns as he twists sharply, tosses Lance to the floor and away from his mother. Lance lands hard with a loud grunt, quickly rolling to a stop and shoving himself up as he reaches under his coat for his gun-

Oliver darts over and shoves Lance’s hand and gun down to the floor, pinning both with his boot, Lance letting out a sharper, pained sound as he glares up, stilling and then letting out, “ _You!_ ”

Oliver glares back, focusing on his hearing. “Are you alright?” he asks, eyes darting briefly over to his mother as she quickly comes around into his periphery, hands up near her chest.

“Oliver! _Stop!_ He wasn’t going to-” she lets out.

“ _Are you alright?_ ” Oliver growls back, cutting her off, feels guilt when her eyes widen and she swallows. She nods and he focuses back down on Lance.

“You owe me- _answers!_ ” Lance grits out as he struggles, making another pained sound when Oliver presses his boot down harder on Lance’s hand.

 _I’m leaving_ , Oliver thinks, eyes quickly taking in Lance as he goes over his options. He needs to deal with this, _now_.

“ _Ma’am, is everything alright?_ ” a guard calls through the doors at the other end of the study.

His mother’s eyes dart to him briefly before she hurries over, pulling one door open a crack. Oliver hears her make an excuse about Lance hitting his ankle on something while Lance glares up at him and Oliver holds it, tensed and ready to move if Lance makes a sound. He hears the door _click_ closed after a minute and retreating steps muffled by the wood, as well his mother’s stopping nearby.

“You _owe me_ ,” Lance grinds out roughly.

Oliver slowly crouches down, careful not to crush Lance’s hand further under his boot, and makes a decision. “Your daughter is alive,” he says, and Lance freezes, eyes going wide. They narrow after a moment.

“How can I trust _anything_ you say, huh?” Lance demands, “You’re a murdering _psychopath_ with _super strength_ you got- god _knows_ where, who’s _barely_ answered any of my questions and now you’re telling me- you’re telling me she’s _alive?_ Been alive this _whole time?_ ”

“Ta-er al Sah-fer,” Oliver says slowly. Lance’s brows furrow as his eyes narrow a fraction. “That is the name she goes by now. It means ‘the yellow bird’. She chose it because of the canary.” Lance freezes all over again, eyes going wide for a second time.

Sara told Oliver about the bird she used to have growing up, the yellow canary Lance bought for her, loud and obnoxious, but loved. She told him she saw one when she first came to in the water after the wreck while drifting at sea on a piece of the Gambit’s wreckage, before Ivo found her, said it was the only thing that felt like home in hell for one, brief moment.

“ _Where_ ,” Lance finally breathes out, eyes focusing on him again, “ _Where is she? **Where** is my baby girl? **Where**_ -”

Oliver stands and Lance grips at his calf, fingers curling tight in his pant leg.

“ _ **Where is she?**_ ” Lance growls.

“You will never bother my family again,” Oliver returns firmly.

Lance’s brows drop. “I won’t stop-”

“ _Never. Again_ ,” Oliver growls, “Or I will tell you _nothing_.”

“I’ll take your mother in unless you _talk_ ,” Lance counters, glaring up.

Oliver crouches down again, glaring back. “I’m leaving the city. This is not up for negotiation. Either you leave my family alone or you _never_ find out what happened to Sara.”

They stare at one another for a long minute, gazes hard, until Lance finally concedes and leans back a little with a sharp, reluctant nod, still glaring at him.

“Sara survived the boat going down. We met again on the island. We were both in an accident there and swept out to sea, taken in by a group of assassins we both joined. Your daughter is still with them,” Oliver says, firm and to the point while Lance stares at him, eyes wide and disbelieving, searching him for the truth, “Looking for her is to look for death.” Oliver shifts his boot off of Lance’s hand as he stands, but Lance stays frozen, gun forgotten as his eyes follow him up. Oliver’s brows lower a little more. “But maybe your connection will keep you from getting killed.”

Because Lance is going to dig for her. Oliver’s just made Sara’s life harder, but he doesn’t have the luxury of playing information cat and mouse with her father anymore, and she’s part of why. She’ll have to deal with it on her own now.

Oliver backs up a step, still keeping an eye on Lance, and Lance lets go of his pant leg. “ _Now get out_ ,” Oliver orders, dangerously low.

Lance jolts a little, gaze sharpening from where his eyes had gone unfocused. He reluctantly tucks his gun away and slowly gets up with the help of his cane, getting back on his feet with a grunt. He glares at Oliver for another minute, then Moira, then back before he starts shuffling for the doors, yanking one open and slamming it shut behind him.

Oliver watches the wood while he listens, hears Lance’s shuffling steps fade away before letting out a slow breath, just as slowly loosening his fingers from where they had curled tight. He tries to disperse the- _anger_ in his chest, the raging heat of it, and takes a slower breath. A hand lightly touches his arm and his eyes snap over, his mother stilling briefly before her expression melts into concern and worry.

“Oliver...is it true?” she asks quietly. He nods and she takes a breath, brows drawing together. “What did you mean you’re _leaving_ the city? _Why?_ ”

Oliver swallows, lips flattening. He looks away for a moment before dragging his eyes back. “I have to go,” he says quietly.

“Does this have to do with those…’League’ people?” his mother asks. He nods and her lips press flat together. “When are you coming back?” Oliver holds in a huff, hears Thea’s voice in his head from not too much earlier.

“I don’t know,” he makes himself answer.

His mother shakes her head. “No. _No_ , that’s not good enough. It’s- it’s dangerous, isn’t it.” It’s not a question, and he doesn’t have to answer. His mother’s hand curls tight into his sleeve as her brows draw lower. “ _No_ ,” she repeats firmly, “There _has_ to be another way.”

Oliver lets out a breath, shaking his head a little. “There isn’t.”

His mother’s eyes start shining like Thea’s had and his own start to sting again, throat going tight while his fingers curl a little. He doesn’t _want_ to leave, but he needs to. He takes a breath and makes himself turn towards her, reaching forward and gently pulling his mother into a hug. He hears her suck in a sharp breath near his ear, feels her thin arms wrap tightly around his back.

She shakes her head again. “ _No_ ,” she says, firm and rough, like that alone will make it all stop.

Oliver holds onto her a little tighter and closes his eyes firmly, memorizing this moment too. She still smells like she always used to, with that perfume she’s used for as long as he can remember, something light and layered, like warmth and autumn and...home.

“ _Don’t make me lose you again_ ,” his mother begs hoarsely, pulling back after a moment and looking up at him, eyes red. She reaches up and cups his cheek firmly. “ _You come back to me_ , you hear me? I won’t go through losing you again. I _can’t. I can’t do it again._ ”

Oliver presses his lips hard together, vision blurring. He closes his eyes and takes a slow breath in through his nose before letting it out in a quiet rush, opening his eyes again. “I’ll come back as soon as I can,” he says for the second time, because he still can’t promise that he will.

His mother grips his cheek harder and pulls him into another hug, holding onto him tight. She’s so small, like his sister, but they’re both so much stronger than he feels. He rests his mouth on her narrow shoulder like he had with Thea, and lets his mother push his hood back and brush her hand down over his hair, over and over like he’s a child again.

 _I missed this_ , Oliver realizes quietly, cracking his eyes open and staring blurrily down at the rugs on the floor behind her, shifts his gaze up to his father’s old desk, still empty of papers or iced tea or a computer. He tightens his grip as much as he dares, tears spilling over. _I missed them. I’ll miss them_.

\--

He stays with his mother for a couple hours, just holds onto her and lets her hold onto him, stroke her hand over his hair, the length of his ponytail over and over, reaching back up every time she comes to the end and doing it all over again. She doesn’t say anything else the whole time, doesn’t reminisce or beg, just holds onto him like she’s trying to absorb it all too until he finally, reluctantly makes himself pull away. They look at each other for one last time before he makes himself slip out the broken window, heading back to the motel. He still needs to call-...

Oliver drops down silently from the motel’s second story roof, stilling when he finds Shado leaning against his room’s door. She stands from it, arms crossed and brows low, holding his stare for a moment before saying quietly, “I know about your meeting. The second one.”

Oliver steps close as he pulls his key out, getting the room door unlocked and pushing it open. Shado walks in first and he follows, closing it quietly behind him. He walks over and turns the nearest lamp on before tugging his bandana down, watches Shado take in the room in a slow turn before her brown eyes focus back on him, darker in the sharp shadows. Oliver keeps quiet and she melts out of her stern stance first.

“ _Beloved_ , what are you doing?” she asks softer, stepping close and gripping his arm, expression shifting into concern, “What are you doing that you can’t tell us? Tell _me?_ ”

Oliver swallows while she tries to search his eyes, has to look away. “I don’t want to lie to you,” he says quietly.

“You already did, earlier in the basement,” Shado returns, voice going a little harder before it softens again, “It has to do with the League.”

Oliver takes a breath, closing his eyes briefly before making himself look back. “Yes.”

“And that woman. Nyssa?” she asks, brows furrowed, “It had to do with her.”

“I can’t tell you,” he answers, shaking his head a little, “She made me swear. And the less people that know, the better.”

Shado lets out a sigh, frowning up at him. “I don’t like this.”

Oliver huffs quietly, lips twitching despite it all. “I don’t either. But if I go…” If he goes, everyone might make it out of this, them _and_ their families. He can reverse most of the damage he’s caused.

“You won’t let us try to help?” Shado asks quieter, brows drawing together, “I told you, you’re not alone.”

Oliver pauses, chest warming. He slowly reaches up and grips her arm back in the same place she’s gripping his, then bends down and rests their foreheads together, closing his eyes against the sting. He didn’t expect all this to hurt so much. He didn’t even think about it.

“I know,” he has to whisper, throat too tight to do much else. He opens his eyes, looking down at her. “ _Thank you_.”

Shado’s lips press together, brows angling up. “You sound like you’re saying goodbye.”

Oliver shakes his head a little against hers, eyes closing again when her hand cups his cheek. “I don’t plan on dying.”

“But you don’t know if you will,” Shado finishes for him.

Oliver takes a slow breath and opens his eyes. They stare at one another for a long moment. She doesn’t smell like the island anymore, not like the trees or rocks or earth. It’s strange, almost, but that scent that’s just _her_ is still there, and that is familiar.

He reaches forward and pulls Shado into a tight hug, closing his eyes as her head tucks under his chin. Shado grips onto him back, one arm wrapping around his back while the other hand on his arm grips tight. They just stay there for a minute, and Oliver adds this memory to the rest. Eventually though, like every other time, he slowly pulls away and looks down at her again.

“Have you told Slade?” Shado asks quietly, worried eyes on him.

Oliver’s brows draw up a little and he shakes his head. “I’m calling him tonight.”

“He won’t like this,” Shado replies, brows lowering again, “ _I_ don’t like this. Are you _sure_ there’s _nothing_ any of us can do?”

“Ra’s will take action against anyone who interferes,” Oliver replies firmly, jaw tightening, “And their families. The League is made of thousands, all trained.” He shakes his head again. “It’s not something you can fight.”

“Then what are you going to do?” she asks, searching his eyes, “Oliver, what are you going to do?”

Oliver presses his lips firmly together and Shado blows out a sigh, dragging her eyes away while her hand grips his arm tighter again. She looks back. She reaches up after a moment and draws a necklace out from under her shirt, pulling it off over her head, dark hair falling back into place and warm light catching the edges. She offers the necklace over and Oliver’s eyes catch on the pendant, and he stills.

“The hozen?” he asks, looking back up.

“The one we found in the cave on Lian Yu that lead us to the submarine with the mirakuru,” Shado confirms, Oliver’s eyes dropping back down and both of them looking at it. “I told you it reminded me of my father. It still did, even after Ivo and the mirakuru, so I held onto it.”

They look it over for another moment, the Japanese script carved into the sloping surface, remembering. Shado offers it over and Oliver’s eyes snap up. Shado looks back. She doesn’t say anything, and Oliver swallows a little, slowly reaching forward after a moment and taking it. He pushes his hood down and slips the necklace on over his head, pulling his ponytail out from beneath it. He looks down at it while he adjusts the cord, then back up at Shado, her own eyes lingering on it before shifting up to meet his.

“Take care,” she says, quiet and firm, “I won’t lose anymore people I care about.”

Oliver’s jaw clenches while the pressure in his chest gives a tight squeeze and he nods once, letting her pull him into one more hug. He wraps his arms around her and holds on just as tight, doesn’t want to let go like with Thea, his mother, but makes himself. Shado pulls back and heads for the door, turning to look at him for a last few moments before slipping out, the door closing quietly behind her.

Oliver stares at it while he listens to her go, her quiet steps quickly fading. He takes a breath through the pressure and wipes at his eyes, squeezing them shut for a minute. He looks down as he lifts the hozen a bit, rubs his thumb over the etched letters and coordinates before letting it go and making himself dig the burner phone out of his pocket. He walks over to the bed and gets his boots off before climbing on and burying his face in Slade’s pillow. His scent’s fading quickly, is almost gone now, but Oliver still catches a hint of it and it makes his eyes sting worse, fingers curling tighter around the phone.

 _I need to call him_ , he thinks, cracking his eyes open and turning his head enough to look over at the phone in his hand, _I can’t run away_. He slowly flips it open after a moment, sees Slade’s last text first before tapping out of it and over into the contacts, hesitating for a long minute before finally dialing and slowly bringing the phone to his ear. It picks up on the second ring.

“ _Oliver?_ ” comes Slade’s voice, sharp and tense.

“Slade,” Oliver returns roughly, clears his throat quietly while his eyes close.

It’s quiet for a beat.

“ _What’s going on, kid?_ ” Slade asks lower, closer to a growl than not.

Oliver takes a breath, shakier than he’d like. “I met with Ra’s tonight,” he finally makes himself answer, “I’m calling to...say goodbye.”

“ _ **What?**_ ” Slade demands, loud and sharp.

“I have to go,” Oliver returns firmly, his own anger spiking, “I’ve made my choice.”

“ _ **What the hell**_ -” Slade cuts off, is worryingly quiet for a moment, then, “ _What does he have over you_.”

Oliver huffs a breath without any humor before answering quietly, “Everything.” He gets his eyes open and stares down over at the obnoxious comforter, watches the way the teal shines a bit in the lamplight and tries not to think of the last time Slade was here. “He knows about you, and Shado, the group, Joe...Grant.”

Slade’s silent and Oliver swallows, vision starting to blur again.

“He’ll use them, hurt them if I don’t go. I can’t let him do that,” Oliver continues, shaking his head a little even though Slade can’t see, “I won’t let him do that.”

“ _Oliver…_ ” Slade trails off, voice tight and tense.

Oliver closes his eyes again, memorizes this too, the sound of Slade’s voice, the way Slade says his name. “The decision’s already made,” he says quieter, firmer, “I have to go.”

Slade’s quiet again, just the sound of his breathing, barely even that, then, “ _What are you going to do?_ ”

Oliver shakes his head a little. “I can’t tell you.”

“ _Oliver_ -” Slade starts firmly.

“I _can’t_ ,” Oliver cuts him off, just the same, brows drawing together. “ _I can’t tell you_ ,” he breathes, chest squeezing tight, “I can’t tell you.”

“ _I’m coming_ ,” Slade says low and firm.

Oliver’s lips curl up a little even while the tears finally spill over and soak into the pillow. “I won’t be here.”

Slade’s silent. “ _You made sure you wouldn’t be?_ ” he asks, dangerously low.

“I knew you’d try to stop me,” Oliver admits, voice going hoarse. He tries to clear it.

Slade growls over the line and Oliver curls up a little, towards the phone.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut, “Slade, I’m sorry. There’s nothing anyone can do.”

“ _You don’t **know** that!_” Slade growls back.

“Yes, I do,” Oliver returns, quiet and rough, “The League is an army. Not even you can fight off an army.” Not even both of them together. There _is_ no fighting it. There just...isn’t. Even if they managed to gas Nanda Parbat, or blow it up, that’s only a _portion_ of Ra’s forces. The League is spread out all throughout the world because Ra’s is smart. He doesn’t keep his whole force in one location. There’s agents and bases even Oliver doesn’t know, only Ra’s.

Slade’s silent, but Oliver can hear his breathing, harder and quicker than earlier. He hears Slade take a long breath, then let it out, and tries to do the same. “ _I’ll find you_ ,” Slade says eventually, low and almost a growl, as deadly sure as he always is once he’s set his mind to something, “ _I promise_.”

Oliver swallows. “I don’t know if you should.”

“ _Then it’s a good thing you’re not in charge of my decisions_ ,” Slade growls back.

It’s quiet again.

“ _How long do you have?_ ” Slade asks lower.

“I leave tomorrow at sun down,” Oliver answers quietly.

Slade pulls in a breath. “ _I’m your last?_ ” he asks.

It takes Oliver a moment to figure out what he means and then has to squeeze his eyes shut again against the tears.

_I’m your last goodbye?_

“Yes,” he makes himself answer, quiet and hoarse. He hears faint shifting and shuffling on the other end.

“ _Then stay on the phone until you leave_ ,” Slade returns.

Oliver curls tighter in on himself, buries his face in Slade’s pillow while he shakes a little.

“ _I can afford the bill_ ,” Slade adds, and Oliver huffs out a- _laugh_. It just builds and builds, a little hysterical. He can’t get himself to stop for a few minutes, tries to bury his face in the pillow and shakes as much with it as with the tears. “ _That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh in five years_ ,” Slade comments, a smile in his voice, and Oliver sucks in a breath when the laughter finally starts to wind down, trying to catch his breath.

“At the worst time,” he replies, panting a little.

Slade hums noncommittally.

Oliver gets his eyes open, wipes at them with his free hand and sniffs quietly.

It’s silent for a minute.

“ _What are you doing?_ ” Slade asks quieter.

Oliver’s cheeks warm a little and he closes his eyes, debates answering honestly but- He doesn’t want to lie, not now, no matter what it is. “Laying on the motel bed with my face half-buried in the pillow you used.”

Slade’s quiet and Oliver’s cheeks warm further with- _embarrassment_. Slade huffs, low and amused, and Oliver bites the inside of his cheek to try and focus on something else.

It’s quiet again, then he hears Slade shift and let out a long sigh. “ _Touch yourself_ ,” he says, and Oliver pauses.

“Why?” he asks.

“ _Because I’m not there to do it_ ,” Slade returns.

Oliver frowns a little, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. “You wouldn’t be touching me like that if you were here right now.”

“ _No, I’d be trying to tie you up_ ,” Slade agrees, “ _But I can’t. And you’ve been thinking too much since I’ve been gone, haven’t you_.”

Oliver doesn’t say anything to that.

“ _So, touch yourself_ ,” Slade repeats.

Oliver blows out a breath, searching the off-white ceiling while he debates with himself before taking another breath and reaching down-

“ _Slowly_ ,” Slade says, making his hand pause halfway there.

Oliver swallows a little and closes his eyes, cock stirring despite- everything. He slowly slides his hand down over the front of his pants, feels over his cock inside and takes a slow breath.

“ _Focus on my voice_ ,” Slade says lower in his ear, and Oliver shudders faintly, spreads his knees to the bed and slowly rubs his hand over himself over his pants, biting his lower lip.

“What are you doing?” Oliver breathes as the arousal starts to light slow up his spine, cock slowly hardening beneath his hand.

“ _Same thing_ ,” Slade answers. Oliver’s hearing focuses, but he can’t hear whatever Slade’s doing, which is...disappointing. But the thought of them both doing the same thing at the same time helps ease some of the...distance, the miles between them. “ _Open your pants_ ,” Slade orders after a minute, and Oliver manages to one-handed. “ _Slide your hand down and wrap it around your cock_.” Oliver does, sucking in a quiet breath. “ _Stroke yourself, slow_ ,” Slade orders, voice lower and rougher.

Oliver bites his lower lip and does as he’s told, sucking in another breath at the lick of pleasure and faint shudder of arousal it sends up his spine. He grips the phone tighter in his free hand and slowly strokes himself again, drags his hand down the length of his cock and revels in the pain-pleasure of the friction before just as slowly pulling it back up, mouth dropping open a little. “ _Slade_ ,” he breathes.

“ _Like that_ ,” Slade returns, a low growl so close to his ear it sends another shudder down Oliver’s spine and has him clenching his jaw on a quiet groan. “ _I want to touch you_ ,” Slade breathes on a low sigh, “ _Kiss you. Get my mouth on you. Waited years to. Feels like I haven’t enough_.”

 _Me too_ , Oliver thinks, biting his lip harder as the pleasure slowly builds at the base of his spine. He drags the pad of his thumb through the precum that beads at the tip of his cock and trails it down the underside with a low moan, spreading his legs a little wider. “ _Slade_ ,” he moans quietly.

Slade growls low in his ear and Oliver’s cock gives a twitch, grip tightening briefly before he makes himself ease up again. “ _When I find you, I’m going to_ ,” Slade promises low, “ _I don’t care **who** gets in my way_.”

That draws Oliver out of the warm haze a little, but he turns his head towards the phone and closes his eyes again, drags his fingers down further and massages his balls when Slade tells him to, and the arousal tingles back up his spine, makes him pant quietly. He can hear Slade’s breathing pick up a bit too after a minute, quiet but there, almost like it’s right next to his ear.

“ _Move your fingers lower_ ,” Slade orders, voice rough again, “ _To your hole_.”

Oliver does, presses and rubs and groans louder, toes curling in his socks. He draws his knees up and rests his feet on the bed, spreading his knees. “Slade,” he pants, shuddering as he presses a little harder. His body doesn’t give, probably won’t without some lube, but just the- idea of it and the memories attached are enough to make him hard, the memory of Slade working his fingers inside, his cock, make his own cock leak on his lower stomach.

“ _Move your hand back up_ ,” Slade orders, and reluctantly, Oliver does, trails his fingers up over his perineum, his balls. “ _Wrap them around your cock and stroke yourself, slow and steady_.”

Slade’s voice gets breathier towards the end and Oliver swallows a little through the heady haze, pictures Slade doing the same thing as he does it and tries to keep his hand slow on his cock, pushing his head back a bit into the pillow as he moans low.

“ _Faster_ ,” Slade orders after a minute, and Oliver picks up the pace, spreads precum down his length, the friction slowly easing while his toes curl again against the sheets with the pleasure building at the base of his spine. “ _Faster_ ,” Slade repeats after another minute, then, “ _Thumb the slit_.” Oliver does and shudders harder, breath catching as the pleasure builds quicker.

“ _Slade_ ,” he moans louder, panting.

“ _Almost there,”_ Slade replies, voice a little strained, _“Twist your hand around the head_ -”

Oliver does and then the pleasure spikes and explodes behind his eyes and he comes with a louder moan, back arching a bit into it as his cum hits the front of his hoodie, spills warm and sticky over his hand and smears down the length of his cock. He hears Slade growl low in his ear and it just adds to it, hears Slade come a few seconds later with a rough, sharp groan of his name and it makes it _better_.

After a minute, Oliver slowly comes down from the high, shuddering a little through the aftershocks while he pants. He hears Slade panting in his ear and turns his head a little more towards it, gripping the phone tighter. He’s surprised he managed not to crush it.

“ _I’m getting my mouth on you as soon as I find you_ ,” Slade growls breathily in his ear.

Oliver tries to focus on that part of it instead of- everything else attached to it. They’re quiet for a few minutes as they both catch their breath and Oliver lifts his head to check his hoodie, resigns himself to discarding it and drops his head back to the pillow, staring up at the ceiling.

“I need to shower,” he says after a little while.

“ _So shower_ ,” Slade replies, almost lazily.

Oliver doesn’t move, and he doesn’t hear Slade move either. He doesn’t want to move. If he moves, it means he’s spending time, which means he’s getting closer to leaving and having to hang up. And it’s...stupid, maybe, that right now, hanging up the phone is a bigger worry to him than facing Ra’s and the League. He doesn’t _want_ to hang up, he wants…

Oliver closes his eyes and lets out a quiet sigh.

It doesn’t matter what he wants.

...But that’s tomorrow. That’s not right now, is it?

So he stays where he is, tries not to think of the League or Ra’s or tomorrow night, and just listens to Slade breathe on the other end of the line, wishing... _wanting_ him _here_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [/miraculously checks off phone sex somehow] ?????????????
> 
> Also I made a short, cracky oneshot which apparently no one got notified about. I made 'Sagittarius' into a series and the oneshot is in there. Here's the link to it directly; https://archiveofourown.org/works/14162178


	36. Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter

Oliver stares down at his father’s notebook in the quiet of the room, rubs his thumb across the rough, water warped cover. He sets it down on top of the weapons piled in his duffel and zips the bag closed, shouldering the straps and looking around the motel room one last time. 

The bed’s made, everything’s been scrubbed to get rid of any evidence he or Slade were ever here, his hoodie’s already been disposed of. He can’t fix the table, but he got rid of the pieces and left the room key on it so he doesn’t have to risk exposure with the front desk clerk. That’s...everything.

He slides his sunglasses on and heads out the door, ignoring the aching gape in his chest, takes the stairs down to the parking lot and starts out for the city, squinting in the sun. He still has five hours before it starts setting and at least three before people start getting out of work. That gives him some time.

He stops at the base first, doesn’t see any cars or a motorcycle parked out front but listens carefully before stepping down into the basement, empty, thankfully. He drops his duffel off near the wall where Thea’s been standing at night to observe Joe and Harper training, lingers briefly before heading back out and just- walking, taking in the city one more time. He keeps his face angled down, bangs hiding his face, and his hands in his pockets. The long sleeves covering his scars keep those from drawing attention, and hopefully his long hair will keep anyone from recognizing him. Even if they do...he’s leaving, so it doesn’t really matter. 

_Still_.

He heads up for the nearest roof as soon as he finds an alley with a fire escape and travels that way, just...looking at the city he was born in, the place he met Laurel and Sara and Tommy. He goes to the park he and Tommy used to chase each other in when they were kids, looks over at the burger joint him, Thea, Tommy, and Laurel all used to hang out sometimes before the Gambit, goes past one of the colleges he dropped out of, letting the memories surface and turn before settling back down in the deep. He lets himself _feel_ the ache, old and new, lets it soak into his bones before moving on, slowly winding his way through his city one last time.

\-----

Felicity looks down at her computer clock, still frowning like she has been since last night.

It’s only one in the afternoon, but it feels like they’re running out of time to just-

“Is there _really_ nothing we can do?” she lets out, leaning towards her screens, “I may not like-” She drops her voice while glancing towards her office doorway. “I may not like Oliver that much but I don’t want to just- _hand him over_ to a bunch of _assassins_ who are probably going to try and _kill him_. It feels _wrong_.”

“ _I don’t disagree, but we’re doing what we can_ ,” Diggle replies calmly, “ _You heard what he said about the League and Ra’s. I don’t feel right handing him over either, but I don’t want my sister in law and her son getting used as leverage to make it happen. He was right, we can’t **do** anything else right now._ ”

Felicity lets out a sigh. “I know,” she says quieter, “My mom’s all the way down in Vegas, but if the League is as dangerous as Oliver says it is, then…” Then the distance doesn’t really matter, _nowhere_ is safe.

“ _What’s Wilson’s T.O.A.?_ ” Diggle asks after a beat.

“I don’t know. I haven’t been able to get him on the phone,” Felicity replies, tense, “You think he’s okay?”

“ _I think he’s fine_ ,” Diggle replies a little wryly before adding more seriously, “ _Other than the obvious reason he wouldn’t be_.”

Felicity huffs a breath, dropping back in her chair and letting her weight see-saw her briefly, staring up at the white paneled ceiling. “He’s going to be _pissed_ when he gets back,” she mumbles.

“ _Good_ ,” Diggle replies, “ _It’ll help us later_.”

It’s quiet for a minute. Felicity sits back up and tries to focus back on her work, but it’s hard.

“ _How’s Shado?_ ” Diggle asks.

Felicity sighs, fingers stilling on her keys briefly. “I haven’t seen her since last night,” she confesses quieter, “Probably doing as well as Wilson is.” Which is to say, probably not good. It makes Felicity’s chest ache, wishing she could _do_ something, but...they’ve already done all they can.

Diggle sighs quietly over the line and Felicity finally gives up work for a little while to lean her elbow on her desk, resting her cheek in her hand while her brows draw together. 

“I hate this,” she mumbles, almost petulantly.

“ _Me too_ ,” Diggle agrees quietly.

 _At least I’m not alone in that_ , she thinks, frowning again.

\-----

Lance stares down at his coffee table, downs the last of another glass of scotch before reaching forward to pour some more- The bottle and glass clink and he pauses when he realizes nothing comes out, setting the bottle down roughly on the table before dropping back against his couch with a blown out sigh, rubbing at his forehead with a hand. His phone vibrates on the table and he goes to ignore it again, before realizing he already called in for work so it has to be-

 _Laurel_ , he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut. It vibrates again, and _again_ -

He digs it out and hits answer against his better judgment, but it’s already impaired, so why not.

“ _Dad?_ ” Laurel asks.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Lance answers, voice near a croak. He clears it.

“ _Are you okay…?_ ” Laurel trails off, a frown in her voice.

 _Other than the deja vu and world shattering news? Yeah, I’m fine_ , he doesn’t say, shaking his head at himself before immediately stopping. It just makes it hurt. “What is it, sweetheart?” he asks instead of answering.

“ _I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be in Central City for a few days for another case I’ve been put on_ ,” Laurel answers.

“Good. That’s good,” Lance says, trying to gather his thoughts out of the downward spiral they’ve been in since yesterday, “Central City. It’s safer there.”

Laurel huffs across the line. “ _Dad, I’m coming back. Like I told Tommy, it’s just for a few days_.”

 _Merlyn_.

They both go silent at the mention. “Get anything on his father?” Lance eventually asks.

Laurel sighs. “ _No_ ,” she answers, “ _Nothing too strange. I don’t know how I’m going to find out more on my end without becoming a vigilante myself and breaking in myself_ ,” she mutters.

“Don’t even joke,” Lance replies seriously, sitting up.

Laurel sighs again. “ _I was just kidding, dad_.”

“Yeah, well...don’t,” Lance replies, bending forward and resting his elbow on his knee, rubbing at his forehead again with his other hand. Maybe all that booze wasn’t such a good idea. But-

 _Sara_ , he thinks, that five year old _ache_ in his chest just tightening more, resurging with the thought.

“ _Your daughter is alive.”_

 _“Ta-er al Sah-fer. It means ‘the yellow bird’_.”

He needs to _find her_. He needs-

“...Laurel,” he makes himself start, taking in a big breath- but he can’t get himself to get the rest out.

“ _...Dad? What is it?_ ” she asks, tone shifting into something concerned again.

“I-...” Lance trails off again, squeezes his eyes shut and finally forces out, “There’s something I need to tell you. When you get back. Not now, just...when you get back.”

“ _Okay…_ ” Laurel trails off, that frown back in her voice, “ _Dad, are you sure you’re okay?_ ”

“ _I don’t know_ ,” he confesses on a huge sigh while thinking a huge, loud, _**No**_. But he can’t tell her that, not yet. “I’m just...working on some things.”

“ _Maybe I should call and say I can’t go_ ,” Laurel says hesitantly after a moment, “ _I don’t have to, if you need me here_.”

“ _No_. No, go. Do your job, take a break from this city. You deserve it,” Lance replies.

“ _If you’re sure…?_ ” Laurel trails off.

 _I’m not sure of anything anymore_ , he thinks, but at the same time- “Yes,” he makes himself answer, closing his eyes firmly, “Yes, I’m sure.” God, maybe he needs a break from this city, too.

“ _Okay_ ,” Laurel says, still sounding hesitant, “ _If you’re sure. I’ll call you when I get back and we can meet for lunch or dinner?_ ”

“Sounds good,” Lance makes himself say, clearing his throat when it starts going tight.

“ _Okay_ ,” Laurel replies, “ _Bye?_ ”

“Bye, sweetheart. Be safe,” Lance says, rubbing at the inner corners of his eyes.

“ _You too_ ,” Laurel returns before hanging up. 

Lance lowers his phone and stares at it as he hangs up too.

 _God, what am I going to tell her?_ he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut again. He drags them over to the laptop still propped open on the other end of his coffee table, ‘ _taer al sahfer_ ’ in the search engine.

\-----

Slade checks the time on his phone again, then looks out the jet window, fingers curling tight around the edge of the arm rest.

“You never said why you were in such a hurry to get back to Starling,” Noah says, reclined back in a side seat on the other side of the jet.

Slade glances over briefly before looking back out the window.

“You said it was to get eyes on Ra’s, sure, but you’ve been up to a lot there before now,” Noah adds. “Apparently enough to find one of his _students_ ,” he continues disbelievingly, phishing for information.

Slade ignores him, only half listening. He hasn’t worked with Noah in a long time. He isn’t working with him now, A.S.I.S. just sent Noah to keep an eye on their jet. Slade’s lucky he managed to persuade them to let him use it at all.

“ _You’ve been making a name for yourself in the States, Wilson,” a voice says, a deep, low timbre, and Slade stops just inside the airport entrance, gripping his duffel straps tighter as he glances over sharply through his sunglasses._

_A man looks back from over the top of his own and a magazine he’s not really reading, teeth a bright white between his near black mustache and beard. It takes Slade a moment to recognize him. Noah stands slowly while Slade scans the area, spots two more agents camped out in the lobby, one by a pillar and another at a food stand, both glancing over._

_“Is A.S.I.S. here to bring me in?” Slade asks low._

_“More inquiring than bringing in,” Noah returns, smirk slowly fading._

_Slade looks over again._

_He hasn’t seen Noah in a while. He looks older, has more lines on his face and the beard now. The dark green cap on his head hides his gaze, matches the dark green vest on him._

_“You’ve been busy in that city,” Noah says, brown eyes going sharper, calculating, “Bosses want a word.”_

_“They can wait,” Slade replies firmly, looking forward again, “I need to go.”_

_“You? In a hurry?” Noah jokes, but there’s tension underneath it and the closest other agent against the pillar shifts._

_Slade glances up at the terminal clock, counts the hours and grits his teeth. He needed to leave **yesterday**. Even if he left now, it won’t get him there in time to maybe-_

_He pauses, looking sharply over at Noah again. “Give me a jet,” he orders._

_Noah stares at him before barking out a fully belly laugh, hand going to his stomach and head thrown back. “Now why would I do that?” he asks through it._

_Slade turns a little more towards him, gripping his duffel straps tighter. “Because I can get eyes on Ra’s al Ghul.”_

_Noah stops chuckling at the drop of a dime, staring at him intently, all humor gone. “No one’s managed that.”_

_“I can,” Slade replies._

_“How?” Noah questions, steely._

_Slade’s brows lower. “Doesn’t matter. I can. If you give me a jet and I leave. **Now**.”_

_Noah holds his stare for a long minute before jerking his chin up a little. “Proof?”_

_“I have a line on one of his students,” Slade growls._

_Noah’s eyebrows shoot up. They stare at one another while a minute ticks by and then Noah finally jerks his head left. “Follow me,” he says, all business, and Slade does, keeping an eye on the agents that slowly move to follow them_.

“Who is this ‘student’?” Noah continues, “Meet’em there?”

Slade keeps ignoring him, brows furrowed while he stares out at the horizon. There’s still time. He doesn’t know where Oliver’s going to be, Oliver wouldn’t tell him, but if they’re leaving the city there’s a _chance_ it’ll be from the airport. Slade just needs to _get there_.

Noah lets out a sigh and reclines back further in his seat, pulling his hat low. “You and your son, like talking to a _wall_ ,” he mutters, “But I don’t care, as long as you do what you’re supposed to.”

Slade glances over briefly before looking back out the window, lips flattening.

\-----

“So these are some of the ‘secrets’ you didn’t want to tell me? The ‘League of Assassins’?” Roy asks.

“Yes,” Felicity sighs as she heads down the basement stairs, “Like Diggle explained last night, Oliver was one of them and was sent here to kill his family as part of some stupid ‘trial’ the League sent him on, or ‘ _Ra’s al Ghul_ ’ sent him on. We caught him, changed his mind, and he’s been here ever since. Or...was.” Felicity crosses the basement and sets her bag down on her steel desk with a frown before crouching to turn her computer tower on, standing back up. She looks over to find Roy’s eyebrows up near his hairline.

“And Ghost in all this?” Roy asks, shooting a look over at Joe who’s staring down at- a bag on the floor?

“That’s my brother’s,” Thea realizes after a moment, rushing over and crouching down. She presses her lips together before looking up at Joe, then over at Roy, Diggle, Felicity, and Shado. Shado shares a look with Felicity and sets her own bag down, walking over and crouching next to Thea. They share their own look and Shado reaches for the zipper, slowly pulling it open. There’s weapons inside, and-...

Shado grabs the small, warped book, flipping the cover open and frowning at the list of crossed out names on the first page. She stands and walks over to Felicity, turning the notebook to show her. “Some of these were in the news, weren’t they?” Shado asks.

“Yes,” Felicity says as she scans over the list, pulling up a program on her computer. A list of names compiles and they compare while Shado slowly flips through the book. “Some of these aren’t in the list I’ve made, but most of them are,” Felicity reports, “They’re all of Oliver’s victims from when he started going out and killing people here.”

Shado keeps flipping through the book, brows furrowed.

“He has an actual kill list?” Roy asks incredulously, eyes shifting to Thea, “That’s kind of...creepy.” Thea gives him a dirty look and Roy shrugs.

“Wait,” Shado says after a minute, drawing their attentions.

“What is it?” Diggle asks from his usual spot next to the desk.

Shado frowns down at the page before turning it around to show him and Felicity, looking at them. “Malcolm Merlyn’s name is in here, and is crossed off.”

“But he didn’t kill him,” Felicity says, fingers stilling on her keys as she looks back, “Unless…” She turns back to her screens and types quickly, brows furrowing in concentration.

\-----

Slade searches the private hangars while gripping his duffel straps tighter over his shoulder. They could be using more public airlines, but given they’re assassins and Oliver’s face is too recognizable, maybe-

He finds a small jet starting and being boarded at the end, catches long blonde hair and freezes, staring. 

The blonde haired man stills, ponytail loose and most of it hanging down his back, and turns a little just before the jet doorway, a hand reaching up to grip the side of it as he looks over. Oliver’s eyes widen over the tops of his sunglasses while the man behind him pauses, looking over too. He’s closer to Slade’s age, maybe older, with white in the sides of his dark brown hair and in an expensive black suit. The man’s lips curl up a bit and Slade’s brows lower, teeth gritting while his fingers curl into tight fists.

 _Ra’s_ , some part of his brain identifies.

But he drags his eyes back to Oliver when Oliver starts moving again, green eyes lingering on him until he disappears inside the jet. Slade reaches up and subtly taps the small device attached to the side of his sunglasses just before pulling them off, gaze shifting to the woman in black behind Ra’s, who stares at him intently, hand going for her belt- 

Ra’s says something to her that Slade can’t hear before following Oliver into the jet and the woman follows too, hard gaze staying on him until she’s inside, the door closing after them. The jet starts moving, rolls out of the hangar across the tarmac and all Slade can do is turn and watch as it heads down the runway, then lift and take off into the cloudy night sky.

Slade’s jaw clenches so tight it feels like his teeth might snap, blunt fingernails digging into his palm while he tries not to crush his sunglasses. 

He got here in time, but only to watch Oliver leave. 

He pulls the small device off the side of his sunglasses and makes himself walk back to the other end of the long stretch of hangars, slipping the glasses back on to hide his right eye.

“Get it?” Noah asks when Slade reaches the A.S.I.S. jet, one of Noah’s brows rising beneath his cap with his hands on his hips. Slade hands the device over and Noah pulls a tablet out of one of his cargo pants’ pockets, plugging the device into it. “Guess you weren’t lying after all,” Noah comments after a moment when the image of Ra’s and the woman comes up, smirking up at him.

Slade ignores him and starts walking, fingers curling tight around his duffel straps again while the _anger_ dwarfs the gaping hole in his chest.

\--

Oliver resists looking out the windows, focuses instead down on the black couch opposite him while his fingers curl around the hozen hanging from his neck. Ra’s takes a seat on the couch and Oliver drags his eyes away, watches the other League agents move in his periphery. Ra’s doesn’t say anything about Slade, doesn’t ask a single question or make a single remark, and it just puts Oliver more on edge. He makes himself take a breath past the squeezing ache in his chest and keep his breathing steady, even if his heart is trying to beat out of his ribcage. He doesn’t want to let Ra’s know how effected he is by seeing-

 _Slade_ , Oliver thinks, squeezing the hozen a little tighter before making his grip relax. He tucks the necklace beneath his shirt after a minute and makes himself focus, finally looking across at Ra’s.

Ra’s smiles back, small and unreadable. “Time to go home,” he says, and Oliver takes a steadying breath, making himself hold Ra’s gaze. The luxury of the plane and lack of shackles is just an illusion, he’s still a prisoner.


	37. Bred of violence and love

“I’ve added _alllll_ the names in the book into the algorithm I set up weeks ago to try and keep track of Oliver’s victims,” Felicity reports as she claps her hands once and spins her chair around to face the room, “Maybe we’ll find a connection when the program is finished runni-” she cuts off and tenses when she sees legs coming down the basement stairs straight ahead, then stills when- _Wilson_ steps down into the room. “You’re back!” she lets out, jumping to her feet.

Everyone else stops and looks over, Joe and Roy immediately stopping and straightening up out of their training while Shado gets to her feet and makes a beeline for him, not walking all the way over but stopping near his general vicinity. Wilson’s still got his sunglasses on so Felicity can’t see his eyes, but the rest of his face seems...blank, controlled.

Joe steps forward first, breaking the silence. “He’s gone,” he says quietly, brows drawing low together.

Wilson’s head turns a little towards him before angling forward again, un-shouldering his bag and dropping the duffel to the floor with a quiet _thud_. “I know,” Wilson replies evenly, “He left with Ra’s.”

“Against his will,” Felicity pipes in, Wilson’s face turning towards her, “Just...so you know. Ra’s threatened, well...all of us.” She lowers her head a little, lips pressing together. She’s still not comfortable around Oliver, might never be, and she doesn’t exactly _like_ him, but...him giving himself up just to keep all of them safe? That’s...honestly more than she ever expected, and makes her feel...guilty, _responsible_. He did that for _them_. Regardless of how she might feel about him, she can’t let him kill himself for them.

“I know,” Wilson repeats, still steady and even, unreadable.

Shado steps closer, keeping a foot of space between them and not touching him, but getting closer than the rest of them dare. “We’ll get him back,” she says, low and firm, brows drawn low and expression hard.

Wilson looks over at her and then finally reaches up to take his sunglasses off. “I know,” he repeats firmly, his own brows lowering.

“We just don’t know _how_ to,” Thea lets out by the wall, arms crossed despite her injuries and expression pinched, some combination of angry and worried, “He left and we don’t know _where_ he went, how to even _find him_.”

“Or what to do if we did,” Diggle adds, arms crossed by Felicity’s desk.

“That’s not...entirely true,” Felicity says, drawing everyone’s gazes, Wilson’s the heaviest. She laces her fingers together in front of her, glancing around at everyone before her eyes land on Shado. “Shado and I came up with an idea...at least for the first part of that. We can track him.”

“What?” Slade asks low and rough.

Felicity’s eyes dart to him. “The problem is,” she continues, “It’s going to require a satellite. Fortunately, I’m still in Merlyn’s system and he _has_ one, but...whoever else is monitoring, someone _somewhere_ will know what I was doing and what I was looking for. So, when I do it, we need to be ready to move and prepared for whoever might try and track the location too.”

“So we...need to come up with a plan,” Roy says a little hesitantly, _trying_ to make himself more useful than just a punching bag.

Felicity nods to him but keeps her eyes on Wilson. “Any ideas?” she asks after a beat.

Wilson’s brows lower further while his jaw clenches tight. “ _A few_ ,” he growls.

\-----

Oliver takes in a slow, deep breath through his nose, eyes closed as he focuses on the smells, the old incense long burned out on the small black table in the corner of the cell and the other smells past the cell door.

He didn’t realize until they arrived how...much he missed Nanda Parbat, even being locked up. It’s strange being back, like home and not, like being in Starling, neither one where he really belongs anymore. But the smells are...different here, sharp yet subtle, less abrasive than the city. The moisture on the stone walls, in the air, the drier air in the halls closer to the entrances and exits in and out of the base, the moss he caught a whiff of on the way to this cell, the one that grows around and near the Lazarus Pit, laced with something sharper that is solely from the Pit’s waters. It’s all different from the city, calming in a way Starling never was. Even now, with everything so different from the last time he was here.

The cell door lock _clicks_ and he opens his eyes and lifts his head, looking up from where he’s sitting cross legged in the center of the room. This cell is larger than the others in the basement, has intricate rugs and benches, the table for incense. But as lavish as it is, it’s still a cell. A guard opens the door and Ra’s steps forward, standing just before the metal frame of it, bars either side, halfway up above plates of steel. None of it can really hold Oliver, but he’s bound by more than just fixings and structure.

“Come,” Ra’s says, back in his robes and his deep green coat that brushes the dark orange stone of the floor, sword at his hip and hands at his back. He turns and starts back down the hall and Oliver gets to his feet, fingers curling a little as he follows.

Ra’s leads him down one hall, then another, and it doesn’t take more than two for Oliver to recognize where they’re going. He’s been down these halls countless times.

They step out into the main audience chamber, the one he was first brought to at the start of all this just after the island, the curved walls lined with lit torches and League agents in black robes, faces mostly hidden beneath half-masks and hoods and shadows dancing along their dark forms in the flickering light. Oliver slows when he sees Malcolm Merlyn on his knees in the center, Malcolm’s eyes widening a little when they land on him. Ra’s continues forward to the head of the room, coming to a stop and turning to face them, orange light washing across him and reflecting off of the few gold decorations on the shoulders of his coat and the dragon head at the end of his sword hilt.

“It is my understanding that last we met, you had business with Al Sah-her, is that correct?” Ra’s asks, looking to him.

Oliver stills, eyes darting to Malcolm still kneeling on the floor, hands tied at his lower back. Oliver drags his gaze back to Ra’s’, taking a breath and nodding once.

“As a last gift to you, in honor of the memory of what you were to me, I am giving you the choice to be his executioner and settle your debt,” Ra’s says. Oliver freezes, eyes widening a little. Ra’s looks steadily back. “It is your choice, one who was once Al Sah-him.”

Oliver’s chest squeezes at the words while his fingers curl. He holds Ra’s’ stare for another moment before shifting his eyes back to Malcolm, who’s looking up at him, eyes still a little wide. Malcolm’s expression eases after a moment and goes firm. “I’d rather it was you,” he says quietly, brows drawing low together, “Someone who deserves vengeance as much as I did.”

Oliver’s brows slowly draw together and he looks over sharply when someone steps into his periphery, keeps his surprise from his face as Nyssa steps up and pulls out her sword, offering it over. Oliver looks down at it, then slowly reaches over and takes it, fingers curling and gripping tight around the hilt, eyes briefly meeting hers.

It’s time.

He walks forward, stopping behind Malcolm and drawing the sword up just enough to cut through the bindings around Malcolm’s wrists, hands springing free as Malcolm sucks in a breath. He looks back and Oliver keeps his expression blank, his gaze steady.

“I won’t kill you unarmed,” Oliver states, glancing over at Ra’s.

Ra’s nods and jerks his head a fraction, and one of the guards peels away from the walls, pulling a sword out and offering it over. Malcolm’s eyes dart between them and he slowly gets to his feet, taking it. The guard steps back to the wall and Malcolm turns around, pacing back a few feet.

“Tommy won’t understand,” he says, raising the sword, “He’s not like us.”

“Tommy will never know,” Oliver replies evenly, raising his own sword while his brows lower, “This is between you and me.” Everything that has happened, all of the choices Oliver has made spawn from that single moment, from Malcolm’s decision to kill his father and destroy the Glades. This is all _his doing_ , all of it: the Gambit, his father, tormenting his mother for years, his sister by extension, the Glades.

 _He needs to die_ , Oliver thinks firmly, fingers curling tighter around the sword.

Malcolm lowers his head a little, gaze hard.

They watch each other for a long minute and then Oliver moves, rushing forward. He puts on speed just before their swords hit, shoving Malcolm roughly back. Malcolm lets out a grunt as he stumbles briefly before catching his footing just in time for their swords to hit again, Oliver shoving a second time. He spins while swinging his sword and Malcolm deflects, spins the opposite way and feints at the last moment to slice up, knocking Malcolm’s sword out of his hand and up into the ceiling before sharply stabbing forward, sword meeting its mark.

Malcolm jerks with the hit as his eyes go wide and Oliver twists the blade sharply in his chest, through his right lung, blood trailing out of the corner of Malcolm's mouth and dripping to the stone floor. Malcolm stares at him in that moment, blue eyes wide.

 _Almost the same color as Tommy’s_ , part of Oliver whispers.

He rips the sword out of Malcolm’s chest and Malcolm drops to his knees, then sideways to the floor with a hard _thud_ , staring forward as his breaths go wet and start to slow. He shifts his eyes up. “I’m glad…it was you,” he wheezes out. After a minute, two, Malcolm quietly breathes out Tommy’s name on his last breath, and then his eyes go hazy and unfocused just before the life leaves them.

Oliver stares down at him, heart beating hard in his chest and breathing faster, not from exertion but-

“ _I’m glad...it was you.”_

 _“Tommy…_ ”

 _I just killed Tommy’s father_ , some part of Oliver thinks, old and recoiling, fingers curling tight around the sword. _I killed my father’s murderer_ , another adds.

Someone steps into his periphery and offers a hand out and Oliver holds in a flinch as he comes out of his thoughts, slowly offering the sword over. Ra’s takes it from him while standing at his right, looking down on Malcolm too.

“I have missed watching you fight,” Ra’s says, then sighs quietly, turning away, “Return him to his cell.”

Five guards close in and Oliver gathers himself quickly. “Wait,” he gets out as calm and clear as he can. Ra’s pauses and turns back, raising his brows a little. Oliver closes his eyes for a moment and takes one more breath before dragging them open and making himself look over, fingers curling into fists. He squares his shoulders. “In the name of Nyssa al Ghul, Wraith al Ghul, Heir to the Demon, I challenge you for the title of Ra’s al Ghul.”

Ra’s’ brows rise a fraction more before his eyes shift to Nyssa, whose dark eyes look steadily back. “So this was it?” he asks, lips curling up a little as his brows lower. Nyssa doesn’t say anything, just lowers her head a little, keeping her gaze on her father, and Ra’s turns to face Oliver, head held high. “Very well. I accept,” he answers, “We depart for a neutral site within the hour.”

Oliver lowers his head a little in return while his heart beats faster and watches Ra’s turn and walk away, eyes lingering on the back of his coat shifting between black and green in the warm light and shadows before dragging his gaze down to Malcolm one last time, lips flattening.

 _That might be me tonight_ , he thinks grimly.

The guards finish closing in and guide him down the left hall, heading back for the hangar.

\-----

“Do you have satellite access?” Slade growls impatiently, crossing his arms.

“Almooooooost- _There_ ,” Felicity answers, punching the air once before she goes back to typing, “They shouldn’t be able to trace where I’m tracking _from_ , but as soon as I go in, they’ll pick up what’s happening.” She stops after a minute and looks back at the group, then up at Wilson practically hovering over her right shoulder (if a foot away since she snapped at him about it earlier). “Ready?” she asks.

“Do it,” Wilson growls.

Felicity turns back forward and hits ‘enter’, and they all watch the program come online with a world map.

“This is nuts,” Roy mumbles at the back of the gathering, staring.

Thea huffs a breath at his right, not-quite a laugh, her own arms crossed again. “You’re telling me,” she mutters, gaze fixed on the screen between Joe and Wilson’s shoulders.

“You going to tell your mom you’re leaving the city?” Roy mutters back.

Thea glances over sharply before dragging her eyes back to the screen, worrying her lower lip. “No,” she decides, keeping her voice down, “She’ll just try to stop me or ask questions I can’t answer.” She sighs quietly, shaking her head a little. “Now I get why her and Ollie never say anything.”

Roy snorts quietly. “Yeah, hard to when all the things you want to say are things people probably shouldn’t know.” He looks over and sees Thea’s brows draw together, expression pinched and worried. He nudges her shoulder gently with his and her eyes dart over. “For now. Stop worrying, we’ll find him.”

Thea manages a small smile before looking forward again.

\-----

Someone approaches in his periphery but Oliver keeps his eyes down on the floor of the plane, watches the way the white and blue overhead lights glint across the shining and matte metal, the textured black grips that go in rows up the center strip. The someone takes a seat next to him and Oliver recognizes her scent first, something uniquely her.

“You’re angry with me,” Sara says low and quiet, as private as she can be in a large plane packed with League agents. Even sitting at the far end as they are, the walls have ears.

“You’re using me,” Oliver responds in the same, keeping his eyes down. Because it finally hit him about twenty minutes ago, just after getting on the plane. Nyssa is using him against her father, but Sara had to have known. What he can’t figure out though, is when. How _long_ has she known? “When I first decided to stay in Starling City, you gave me my father’s notebook and said I could be more than a tool, and now you and Nyssa are using me as a tool against Ra’s.”

Sara’s quiet for a beat before taking a breath, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Whose idea was it?” Oliver eventually asks quieter, brows drawing lower as he finally drags his eyes over.

Sara keeps her own on the floor for a long moment before looking back. “Nyssa and I were talking about a year ago about her succeeding, about Ra’s maybe choosing you since he was grooming you. We were just talking,” Sara reiterates, “But then I realized...We both came to the same conclusion.”

Oliver’s lips flatten and he looks away again, jaw tightening when Sara touches his arm.

“Nyssa was against it at first, wanted to fight Ra’s on her own, but she has never been able to beat him, not once,” Sara says low and firm, hand tightening on his arm, “You have the mirakuru, which gives you a higher chance of surviving, so I...convinced her to do this.” Sara takes another breath when Oliver doesn’t look back over, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “I gave you your father’s notebook and wanted you to stay in Starling City because I was _right_ , you _are_ more than a tool, and you need to be to have a chance at beating him.”

It’s quiet for a minute while Oliver absorbs that, just the deep sound of the plane engines rumbling past the walls, the feel of the low vibrations sinking into them through the bench seat.

“Am I supposed to be grateful?” Oliver asks lower, almost a growl.

Sara’s hand pulls away. “No,” she returns, somber, “I did what I had to to protect the person I love, and I gave another person I love the best chance I could at him surviving my selfish decision.”

Oliver grits his teeth for a moment.

He understands it from a logical standpoint; it’s practical, and Sara has always been the more practical of the two of them in the League in a quieter, subtler way. He wasn’t unaware of it during their time together under Ra’s, but he just- never thought she’d use it like this on _him_.

 _ **Naive**_ , part of him hisses.

He finally looks over again, glaring back. “My life is not like yours,” he growls low, “My family knew I was alive. You’ve torn me away from them like Malcolm did, have left my mother and sister to think I might die, _again_. You took me away from-” He cuts himself off, looking away sharply, can’t stand the remorseful look on her face, heavy and weighted but not enough to have changed her mind.

It’s quiet.

“Slade,” Sara finishes for him, softer.

Oliver closes his eyes firmly, swallowing a little when his throat starts to go tight. Just _hearing_ his name hurts now, like it did before, a pit in his stomach, a cold void in his chest, but different, because now he knows Slade is alive, that Slade- feels the same way for him that _Oliver_ does. It makes the knife twist sharper, the one of separation, his impending fight, and the one Sara has stabbed through his back like a-

 _Lance_ , he thinks, forcing his eyes open and glaring back down at the floor. Maybe he should have seen this coming.

“You really do love him, don’t you,” Sara says, tone still soft, almost gentle, _understanding_.

It makes Oliver grit his teeth.

“Good,” she adds after a moment, voice stronger, and Oliver’s eyes snap over. Sara stares back, brows lower and expression firm. “Now you have more to live for than just another victory for Ra’s.”

Oliver glares back, gritting his teeth while his fingers curl tight, chest aching. “I can’t forgive you for this,” he grinds out.

“I know,” Sara replies solemnly, finally dragging her eyes away, “I did all this knowing that was a price I’d have to pay, but I couldn’t let Nyssa die. You would have done the same thing for Slade,” she finishes, looking over at him again.

Oliver stares at her a moment before slowly shaking his head and looking back to the floor, closing his eyes briefly against the- pain. “Not like this,” he says quieter, doesn’t see her jaw clench or the pain in her eyes. He doesn’t want to.

Oliver takes a breath, lets the silence settle between them for a minute and his- _anger_ simmer at least a little before saying, “Your father knows you’re alive.” Sara stills next to him and Oliver sits back a little more, tilting his head back to look up at the roof of the plane, squinting into the lights.

“Is this a punishment?” Sara finally asks lower, “For what I’ve done?”

Oliver keeps staring up at the ceiling for another couple moments before turning his head a little towards her as he drags his gaze down to meet her own. “I did what I had to to keep the people I love safe,” he returns.

Sara’s eyes widen a fraction before her lips press together and she looks away. It’s quiet for a few moments as she absorbs what he told her and then she nods once and stands, walking back down the length of the plane to take a seat next to Nyssa up near the cockpit door at the opposite end. Nyssa glances down to him briefly before focusing on Sara and Oliver looks over at Ra’s sitting opposite her at the start of the right row of benches, eyes closed and head back like he’s sleeping, except they all know he’s not.

The rest of the ride is silent, and then after a while, Oliver feels the plane start to shift altitude beneath him and opens his eyes from where he’s had them shut, looking towards the other end of the plane. Ra’s lifts his head and looks towards the cockpit door, standing and pulling it open and disappearing inside. He comes back out after a minute and takes his seat again, looking down the stretch of plane back at him.

Oliver holds his stare, taking a slow, steadying breath.

\-----

“Are you sure you want to land?!” Felicity calls over the loud plane engines, looking up from her tablet, “They’re still moving!”

“In this direction?!” Wilson calls back from the cockpit.

“Yup!” Felicity answers, brows drawing worriedly together as she turns her tablet around. Roy, Thea, and Diggle all lean closer for a better look.

Shado looks from the tablet out the dark windows and frowns, then looks ahead to Slade. “We’ll have the advantage!” she calls up.

“‘Advantage’?!” Felicity asks, eyes darting to Shado. She turns her tablet back around and checks the coordinates for the area, eyes widening. “Wait, is this-”

The plane dips sharply and everyone grips their harness straps tighter, Felicity letting out a high pitched squeak.

The turbulence makes the descent bumpy. Felicity grips her tablet tight where she’s strapped in next to Diggle, eyes squeezing shut as she tries to curl up. Roy squeezes his eyes shut and white knuckles his harness straps while Thea’s eyes dart frantically around the plane before landing on Shado, who’s maybe the calmest of the bunch of them, minus Joe and Wilson up front. Their altitude drops fast and Thea, Roy, and Felicity’s stomachs roll before the plane finally hits something with a sharp _jerk_ , nearly sending their heads back against the metal walls. After a few minutes, the plane slows to a rough stop, metal grinding against something outside, and then the engines power down until they’re silent. Everyone takes a breath, letting them out in a rush.

“We _survived_ ,” Roy breathes.

“I’m gonna hurl,” Felicity says, tight and strained.

“You call that a _landing?_ ” Diggle demands, eyes snapping up to the cockpit.

“We don’t have time for luxury piloting,” Wilson growls back as he gets up and moves back through the plane, getting the side door open and jumping out, skipping the stairs entirely, already in his gear. The others follow slower, Joe trailing Wilson out first with his sheathed sword in hand.

Felicity makes her shaky way down the steps and then immediately bends over right once she hits land and empties her stomach, coughing over the sand and rocks with her tablet clenched tight to her chest. Diggle rubs slow circles over her back. “No mask?” she croaks out after she spits, straightening and rubbing the back of her hand over her mouth with a grimace.

“I want them to see my face,” Wilson growls back, eye focused ahead on the dark line of trees. He reaches up and draws one of his swords out off his back, glancing over his shoulder at the others. “Watch your feet. There are landmines here.”

“Landmines?!” Felicity lets out, straightening sharply, “Why would anyone _mine_ the island?”

“They’re left over from World War II,” Shado answers, shouldering her quiver before drawing an arrow out and notching it, keeping her bow aimed low. Her brows lower as she looks back ahead to Wilson, giving him a sharp nod.

Wilson looks back forward and then they all pause when Felicity’s tablet beeps, looking over. Felicity quickly pulls it from her chest as her eyes dart down, the dim screen lighting up her face in the night when she turns it on. “It’s coming,” she reports, brows lowering as she looks back up, “Ten minutes.”

Wilson looks forward again and starts leading the way up the beach, Shado taking up the rear. They stop once they’re hidden just past the treeline and wait until they hear a plane approaching, all looking over and up.

The red lights on the ends of its wide wings are easy to spot as it drops down through the clouds, map out how huge it is as it comes in low to land, like a shark in the dark water of the sky. The belly brushes across the water’s surface and sends it up in _shushing_ waves as the plane curves its path, disappears past the trees to the far left. They all wait a few more minutes before Wilson turns and starts walking, leading the way through the forest with barely a sound.

“Secret assassins and an island full of bombs,” Roy mutters as he keeps pace with Thea and Diggle, eyes darting around, “Maybe I should’ve stayed back in the city with _Thompson_.”

“Don’t forget the wolves,” Joe mutters back dryly, and Roy freezes, eyes widening.

“ _Wolves?_ ” he hisses, “You’re joking, right?”

\-----

Ra’s gestures and everyone stands, Oliver turning as the back hatch opens, the light from inside spilling out into the dark and illuminating some of a rocky shore. He moves with the agents that surround him when Ra’s gestures again, following him down the ramp and out. Oliver stills when his eyes adjust and he gets a better look at their surroundings, the familiar smell of the salty ocean and untouched forest hitting his nose, water on stone. This is-

“Welcome back to Lian Yu,” Ra’s says, lips curled up a little as he looks back at Oliver over his shoulder, shadows hiding half of his face, “Oliver Queen.”

Oliver stares, at him and then- around at the island, at the Amazo he can still see collapsed where it crashed in the shallows, dark portions sticking up high out of the water like Roman ruins, the looming darkness of the trees ahead and the stars littered between the dark clouds up above, everything lit by the half moon.

Ra’s gestures and the League agents move, Oliver jerking forward into a walk when one of them nudges his lower back with the hilt of their sword. They follow Ra’s further up the crescent curve of the beach until they reach flat land, ten feet from the start of the trees.

“I thought it fitting,” Ra’s says as he looks around and the League agents start flitting about, setting tall torches in a wide circle around them in the rocky sand, “This is where Oliver Queen died before coming to me and being reborn anew. And since you have returned to being him, it seemed appropriate that you should return to the place you died.” Ra’s turns to face him and Oliver’s jaw tightens, fingers curling at his sides. “It is not the site we usually use, but I wanted to give you one last, final gift: a proper end and resting place.”

Oliver’s brows lower and he takes a breath. Ra’s is confident he’ll win. Oliver isn’t so arrogant to think he can beat him easily, but maybe he can use that to his advantage.

His fingers curl tighter.

It just makes him want to try _harder_. For all that he’s angry at Sara for her and Nyssa manipulating him into this, she was right. He has people he wants to see again, a place he wants to return to, and those people _want_ him there. He doesn’t want to die here. He can’t afford to.

He watches the League set up their arena. It doesn’t take more than ten minutes to get all the torches up and lit and the weapons case brought out. Ra’s lets his coat slide from his shoulders and one of the agents at his back left catches and lifts it before it can hit the sand, cradling it like treasure while Ra’s unrobes his top, another agent taking it from him. Oliver pulls his shirt up and off over his head, pausing when he notices the hozen laying against his sternum. He reaches up and grips it for a moment, taking a breath before slowly pulling it up and off too, gaze lingering on it. He turns and walks to the edge of the makeshift arena and sets it and his shirt down near the bottom of a torch before turning back.

“Choose your weapon,” Ra’s says.

Oliver looks over at the open case, the array of swords on display. There’s katanas, scimitars, straight blades and curved ones. He walks over and reaches for a katana on the far right and then backs up, letting Ra’s choose his own: a long, curved scimitar, a contrast to his choice. Ra’s steps back to the other end of the arena and Oliver takes a slow breath, swallowing a little as it all finally sinks in.

He’s fighting Ra’s al Ghul, his teacher, his former master, a man with six hundred years of experience; Oliver’s never beaten him.

He might die tonight.

Oliver closes his eyes firmly and takes a slower breath through the thought, letting his head drop back a bit as he absorbs it and the moment.

 _I want to live_ , he thinks, crystal clear, maybe one of the few things he’s ever been so certain about. _I want to live_ , he thinks again firmly, opening his eyes and looking up at the stars, the moon, breathing in the smell of the ocean and the forest and the rocks, feels cool air whaft up on a breeze from the nearby sea and the heat from the flames surrounding them. _I want to live. I want to see my family again, mom and Thea, Shado and Slade._ Even Joe, Harper, Smoak, and Diggle. _He wants_ -

Oliver lowers his head and looks across at Ra’s, who’s watching him steadily, waiting, forever patient, even now. Oliver slowly raises his sword and Ra’s raises his, orange firelight glinting off the blade and Ra’s’ dark green eyes, making them bright, almost like Oliver’s own.

 _I want to live_ , Oliver thinks firmly, fingers curling tighter around his sword’s hilt and brows lowering, lips pressing hard together, _I just need to beat him_. He slowly shifts into a fighting stance-

He hears a shushed whistle through the trees from the right and turns sharply as a League agent at the perimeter drops with an arrow in their back just before a faint bush rustle. Someone in black comes running out from between the trees with a dark blade raised-

Oliver’s eyes widen when he recognizes- _Slade_ going for another nearby agent as the others all draw their swords and _moves_ , blocking Slade’s sword with his own. Slade jerks to a sharp stop, eyes widening to match Oliver’s as their swords hit sharp and loud.

“ _What are you doing?!_ ” Slade demands.

Oliver snaps out of it. “Saving _you!_ ” he lets out, shoving back viciously. Slade lets himself move with it as Joe and Harper stop at his back left and right. Several League against quickly disappear into the forest and then after a minute, the others slowly come out of the dark of it into the firelight too: Shado with her bow lowered, Smoak, Diggle, and- _Thea,_ all keeping an eye on and glaring at the League agents surrounding them, guiding them forward with swords aimed at their backs.

“We had the element of _surprise_ ,” Diggle says low, both hands up and finger not on the trigger of the one holding his gun.

“You had _nothing_ ,” Oliver snaps back, eyes darting to Slade. Oliver’s chest squeezes tight when their eyes meet and he tries to shove the feeling aside, brows lowering. “I _told you_ I _needed_ to do this. Did you forget what I said about attacking Ra’s outside of a sanctioned fight?”

“If we killed them all, no one would _know_ it was unsanctioned,” Slade growls back.

“You _can’t kill him_ , I _told_ you,” Oliver grinds out.

“Then what do you think you’re doing?” Slade snaps back, “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“That is my decision!” Oliver shouts back, and Slade grinds his teeth. Oliver takes a breath, heart beating harder in his chest, and tries to- settle the roil of _emotions_ , sword still against Slade’s. “I already said I don’t plan on dying.”

“ _You can’t promise that_ ,” Slade growls low, pushing harder against his sword with his own.

Oliver pauses, taking another breath as his brows lower, slowly pulling back. “No,” he agrees quieter, and raises his sword again, pointing it at Slade, “But it’s already too late, and if you interfere again, I _will cut you down_.” Slade glares back while Oliver’s heart tries to beat out of his chest...scared, _aching_. He doesn’t want to do that, but-

He tightens his grip on his sword, jaw clenching with his decision.

But he will if he has to, to save Slade, _all_ of them. It’s bad enough they killed an agent; he’s surprised Ra’s hasn’t ordered them dead. His eyes dart over to Thea, Harper, all of them. They shouldn’t _be here. They weren’t supposed to be here_.

Slade keeps glaring at him, jaw tight, and Oliver slowly lowers his sword after a minute, taking another breath. “ _Trust_ me,” he says quietly, brows drawing together, “I need to do this.”

Slade grits his teeth harder, gripping his sword so tight it feels like the metal will warp. He forces the tension out, curls it tight and locks it up and raises his sword, ignoring the League agents tensing as he sheathes it on his back, brows low. “ _If you die_ ,” he growls out slowly, fingers curling tight, “I’ll _kill you_.”

Oliver’s lips twitch, miraculously, and part of Slade, even if the rest of him hates himself for doing it, memorizes this moment: the way the torches light Oliver’s skin, turn the edges of his hair a dark gold, the way his green eyes glow a little in the light and shadows, almost like the fireflies they sometimes saw drifting in the small meadows at night near the fuselage. Slade’s chest aches, hard and painful, but he forces himself take a slow step back, then another, closer to the trees than not- just in case. He has to think about Joe, the others, what they’ll need to do if- Oliver loses, makes himself consider the possibility even if all most of him can focus on right now is how close he is, almost close enough to touch but worlds away.

Oliver looks at Slade for one more minute, lets himself have this last moment, taking in the way Slade’s brown eye almost glows like an ember in the warm light, as furious and alive as the fire dancing in the gentle breeze before dragging his gaze away and making himself turn, facing Ra’s, who’s still waiting. Ra’s gestures with his free hand and the League agents all sheathe their swords and return to their positions around the arena, then raises his sword again and Oliver does the same, taking a steadying breath and forcing his thoughts clear. They watch each other for a long minute and then Oliver makes himself take the first step, running at his longest teacher. Their swords meet and Oliver pushes-

His eyes widen and Ra’s smirks, shoving _him back_ -

Oliver stumbles in his surprise but manages to gather himself quickly enough to block Ra’s second strike, his third, whirling low and sweeping his sword for Ra’s calves. Ra’s jumps back and- stops while Oliver stares, trying to process-

“You-” He stops, searching Ra’s’s face. “ _How?_ ”

“I took a sample of your blood the day you used the Lazarus Pit,” Ra’s answers steadily. Oliver keeps staring and Ra’s continues, “My daughter showed me what you were capable of before I revived you. I had one of our labs look into it, privately. They derived a serum from your blood.”

What? But that’s not- Ra’s never _once_ exhibited signs of the mirakuru, good _or_ bad.

“But the side effects-” Olive starts, thoughts a chaotic static.

“I did not take it all at once,” Ra’s answers, lowering his sword as he tilts his head up, looking down on him, “I have been taking your ‘mirakuru’ in fractional doses over the years - patience is a learned skill. There _were_ still some side effects, but nothing the Pit had not already prepared me for.”

“You-...” Oliver trails off, the implications stacking one on top of the other.

 _He used me_.

Oliver’s eyes flick to Nyssa and Sara, both staring wide eyed at Ra’s.

 _They didn’t know_ , part of him realizes, dragging his gaze back.

“You were one of my best students, and also a tool of the League,” Ra’s replies calmly, gaze still steady, _knowing_ , “You have always known this. _Everything_ I do is for the League, this included.”

Oliver’s eyes slowly lower, searching the sand while he tries to process. Five years of-

 _All of them_ , he realizes distantly, Ra’s, Sara, Nyssa, maybe even Malcolm. They all-

His eyes shift over when he hears Slade growl, “You son of a _bitch_.” Their eyes meet and Slade’s brows lower, expression hardening and gaze slowly steadying, but it’s different from Ra’s’. It’s not confidence in himself, it’s confidence in-

Oliver stills, the static gradually going quiet with it.

Slade’s expression shifts, just a little, and they watch each other for a long moment before Slade inclines his head a fraction. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, low and steady and firm, “Beat’im, kid.”

Oliver stares back, fingers slowly tightening around his sword. His eyes shift to Shado, who looks just as angry and confident in him as Slade does, giving him a small, sharp nod. Then to Joe’s angry eyes, Thea’s worried ones, Harper’s confused, Smoak’s grim determination and Diggle’s matching. Oliver drags his gaze back forward, sees Nyssa’s tight expression and Sara’s worried one, then focuses back on Ra’s. Oliver slowly raises his sword again and Ra’s does as well.

“Ready to face death?” Ra’s asks calmly.

Oliver’s grip tightens a little more on the sword and he takes one more steadying breath, lets it out slow before clenching his jaw and forcing himself to focus, then _runs_ , Ra’s coming at him too.

Their swords hit once, twice, three, four, five times, getting faster and faster until Oliver feels a cut along his side, over the top of his left thigh, spinning back and slicing up. Ra’s deflects it and stabs forward, Oliver spinning around just in time to avoid it and managing to block Ra’s other arm with his own. Pain pierces his back left and then a foot hits his right side, sending him flying and rolling across the sand, kicking it up in his wake. He keeps his grip tight on his sword, doesn’t lose it in the tumble and rolls to his feet, jerking to a stop near a torch just as he blocks Ra’s sword again, trying to shove Ra’s _back_ -

He barely budges so Oliver rolls sideways, gritting his teeth and ignoring the pain in his side, his sister shouting his name to the sound of Ra’s sword hitting the stones and rocks right behind him, following him like snapping teeth. Oliver manages to deflect another blow as he gets to his feet, but Ra’s' blade still skims the back of his shoulder before Oliver can get out of his range. He spins around as he raises his sword and quickly backs up, keeping his eyes on Ra’s.

Ra’s watches him back, brows drawn low in concentration but lips curled up in a small smirk. “Are you just going to dodge me all night?” he goads.

Oliver watches him, thinking, can already feel his skin knitting the shallower wounds closed and slowly working on the stab wound in his side. As long as the cuts don’t go completely through, he’ll heal fast enough to keep up, but…

Ra’s comes at him first this time and Oliver jerks out of his thoughts, focusing again. They move quick, Oliver blocking Ra’s’ sword, his fist and kick before taking a punch to the jaw and feeling another sting of pain across his inner arm, twisting away and flipping back while he deflects Ra’s’ sword. He feels his foot connect with Ra’s’ chin before Ra’s is coming after him again, relentlessly chasing him across the arena. Oliver barely glimpses some strands of his hair falling to the sand after another slash that brushes wind across his cheek before Ra’s’ curved blade is coming at his left eye and Oliver rolls sharply right, grunting when he gets a kick to the stomach mid-roll that sends him across the sand again, digging his fingers into the ground and skidding to a stop.

“You still had so much to learn,” Ra’s says almost remorsefully as he walks leisurely towards him, and Oliver gets back to his feet.

Ra’s is holding back, Oliver can tell, drawing this out, not-quite toying with him. Ra’s is faster, stronger now like himself and whatever slim chance Oliver had of winning feels like it’s slipped out of his grasp. It feels like there’s a _gap_ miles wide between them, because Ra’s is right, compared to him, there’s- _too much left to learn_. Ra’s is keeping him on his toes with barely much effort and Oliver is _trying. No one_ has managed to cut him this much this quickly in- since before the League.

“You cannot beat me, Oliver Queen,” Ra’s says like he’s reading his thoughts, coming to a stop, “Not even Al Sah-him could. But I did not want to dishonor you by killing you quickly, unmarked and unremembered. You worked five years under me as one of my best students to become what you are. That is deserving of a fighting chance.”

Oliver’s grip tightens around his sword as his jaw clenches, brows drawing low. “You’re holding back.”

“I admit, it is not often I get the privilege of fighting one of my students in mortal combat,” Ra’s returns, expression going solemn after a moment, “But, my drawing this out any longer would be a disservice to you.” Ra’s straightens and raises his sword up, lined perfectly center to split himself down the middle. Ra’s’ brows lower. “Let us finish this.”

Oliver swallows, grip tightening again. He raises his own sword, ignores Slade, Shado, his sister, Joe, Smoak, Harper, and Diggle, Nyssa and Sara, and tries to just…

 _There’s only one way to do this_ , he realizes, quiet and sure, as crystal clear as his thought earlier.

Oliver lowers his head a little, eyes on Ra’s’, and Ra’s does the same, both of them watching each other. Oliver runs at him, sweeping his sword up while Ra’s sweeps his own sideways, shoving it away before Oliver swings it back, pushing himself faster, _faster_. He doesn’t spin, he doesn’t flip, he doesn’t roll or evade, just goes after Ra’s as hard as he can, each sword swing hitting hard enough to reverberate up his arm, through his gritted teeth. He goes _faster_ , hits _harder_ \- Then jerks left sharply in a half spin, giving Ra’s an opening, just enough to be tempting and glimpses Ra’s sword coming towards him in his periphery. He twists sharply at the last moment, aiming his sword around and back, other palm pressed against the end of the hilt-

Pain pierces through him from behind and Oliver lets out a rush of breath as Ra’s’ sword sinks through his back, feels his own slide into Ra’s side and shoves it in harder, hears Ra’s let out a faintly surprised, choked sound behind him. Oliver twists his blade sharply and then tears it out brutally, doing as much damage and cutting through as much of Ra’s on the way as he _can_ , no finesse, no grace, just _rending_ and _ugly_ , blood spattering loud across the sand in the firelight as his sword comes free. Ra’s’ sword _yanks_ out of him and then Oliver hears them both hit the sand, his knees first before the ground comes up to meet his face as his sword clatters from his grip. His cheek hits small pebbles and he rasps out a breathy, faint, pained sound, eyes squeezing shut as the pain fractures out from deep inside.

 _Through my left lung_ , Oliver thinks, can feel his blood soaking between his chest and the sand and coughs more up from the back of his throat, warm and coppery. Everyone’s voices filter in past his pounding heartbeat then, feet running closer across the sand and gravel and then gloved hands are lifting him, turning him over and he lets out a pained sound, eyes squeezing shut as he coughs up more blood, feels it hit his chin and stream down the corner of his mouth, dawn over his jaw and the length of his throat.

“ _Kid!_ ” Slade growls, almost a shout, close above him. Oliver gets his eyes open and looks up, feels deja vu hit him after a moment like a tidal wave.

“Sorry,” Oliver forces out, coughing again as the pain hits deep and hard, feels his blood spreading warm down his stomach and side. Slade’s arms tighten around him, hands gripping hard enough to bruise while someone shoves something against the wound just below his chest, making Oliver groan quiet and strained, _pained. It won’t work_ , he thinks, forcing his eyes back open as he looks over at- _Thea_ , he thinks, pushing her coat against him to try and stop the bleeding in between Shado checking the wound over. Shado’s worried brown eyes dart up to his, putting together what he already has, then hers and his both shift up to Slade. “Did something stupid again,” Oliver mutters quietly, strained.

Slade’s grip tightens on him as he glares back down, teeth gritted hard. His brown eye shifts down as he lifts the jacket just long enough to look and then feels along Oliver’s back with his free hand, stilling and eyes shifting back to his face.

Oliver’s brows angle up. “Sorry,” he repeats before coughing again, heart beating hard and making him bleed to death faster. Ra’s sword went through him while he was twisted, trying to get his own through Ra’s. The curved blade went through- more vital things than he’d intended. His insides are in pieces.

Slade’s grip tightens on him again and Oliver forces his eyes open from where they fell shut, coughing and gritting his teeth against the pain. He’s losing too much blood, can already feel that old, familiar, terrifying numb feeling spreading up through his toes and fingers. He doesn’t have much longer. He drags his eyes up while Slade looks down, glaring furiously at him again.

“ _I told you **not to die**_ ,” Slade forces out, voice hard and strained.

“Can’t the mirakuru-” Smoak starts.

“Not with wounds like these,” Shado cuts her off, brows drawn worriedly together as her eyes start to go red around the edges, “Not fast enough.” She looks between Slade and Oliver while Diggle glances over at Ra’s, sees him talking low to Nyssa kneeling at his side, her brows drawn low together and expression tightly pinched while Sara’s worried eyes focus over on Oliver, her own expression tight and pained.

“What do you _mean?_ ” Thea demands, “It’s some ‘super serum’, right? It should be _able_ to _heal him!_ ”

“It can’t keep up with where the sounds are and how much blood he’s losing,” Shado answers quietly, dragging her eyes over to Thea long enough to explain. Shado shakes her head before looking back, reaching forward and gripping Oliver’s shoulder tightly.

Oliver drags his eyes over, expression gentling a bit. “Sorry,” he whispers again, shifting his gaze to Thea, after.

Thea shakes her head hard, hand at her mouth. “ _No_ ,” she lets out, reaching forward and gripping his arm tight above Slade’s hand. “ _No_. You _promised_ ,” she says, eyes going red as they shine in the firelight, brows drawn low and angry, “Why? _Why_ did you _do_ this?”

Oliver drags his eyes past Thea over to Sara, then down to Nyssa. “Because she promised,” he manages to answer.

 

“ _Your father is here,” Oliver says, after following Nyssa around a building corner and down some stairs into an empty room in a lower floor._

_“I know. I caught wind and followed him,” Nyssa returns, “What did he speak of?”_

_“He wants me to return with him to Nanda Parbat to face punishment,” Oliver answers low, “He knows you have plans for me but not what they are.”_

_Nyssa’s quiet as she thinks that over. “Good,” she eventually says, “You will return with him.”_

_“And then?” Oliver asks when she doesn’t continue._

_Nyssa’s lips quirk a little beneath her veil but she doesn’t look amused. “And then, when the moment arrives, you will challenge him to a fight for the title of Ra’s al Ghul in my name.”_

_Oliver stills, eyes widening._

_“Do this,” Nyssa continues after a beat, “And I will grant you freedom from your servitude to both me and my father.”_

_“And if I’m **dead?** ” Oliver bites out, fists curled tight at his sides._

_Nyssa studies him, expression shifting to something more solemn than he’s used to seeing her aim at him. “What do you want most?”_

_Oliver stills again as the words hit him, breath catching. His fingers curl tighter as his head lowers a little, thinking it over for a minute. He focuses back on Nyssa. “You will remove any and all present or future involvement of my friends and family, and **their** friends and family from the League. You will take them off the League’s radar, permanently.”_

_“A demand to the Heir to the Demon? My, you’ve gotten bold during your time here,” Nyssa replies, lips curling up, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes and her expression smooths out again. “Do this for me, and whether you live or die, I swear on my life that your wish will be seen done. Those you care for and their loved ones will receive no harm from the League, now or in the future.”_

_Oliver takes a shaky breath, heart beating harder. He searches her eyes for a minute even though she’s never been anything but true to her word, a last hesitation of his own, and then swallows a little and nods once, sharply._

_Nyssa nods back before turning to leave, Oliver slowly following her out and up the steps, back into the city._

 

Oliver takes a wet, shaky breath, can feel his body starting to get heavier, the numb spreading and gradually starting to dull the pain. “If I defeated Ra’s for Nyssa, you and the others, everyone would never be involved with the League again,” he explains, slowly dragging his eyes up from Nyssa to Slade’s mismatched ones, brown one still dark and angry but-...Oliver’s lips press together, brows drawing closer. “I couldn’t let anything happen,” he adds quieter. _To Grant_ , he doesn’t say, to Joe, to his sister and mother, Smoak, Diggle, Harper...Slade, to anyone he cared about, to anyone _Slade_ cared about. He couldn’t let them be in danger because of him, _for_ him. Never for him.

“Ollie…” Thea trails off wetly, covering her mouth with a hand again while her shoulders hunch up. Joe grips the nearest one to try and help ground her, his brows drawn low together as he watches him, and Thea squeezes her eyes shut.

Slade’s grip tightens again and Oliver coughs weaker, eyes squeezing shut as the pain shoots through the growing numb out from just below his chest to- _everywhere_. He didn’t miss this feeling. A gloved hand grips his cheek and Oliver forces his eyes open, looking up, laid across Slade’s lap again like he was in- the submarine.

“Brave, and _stupid_ ,” Slade growls angrily, gritting his teeth again, brows drawn low and sharply together.

“I know,” Oliver whispers, throat going tight as the backs of his eyes sting, “ _I’m sorry_ -” Slade bends down and kisses him hard, cutting him off, and Oliver squeezes his eyes shut, tries to lift his arm. He manages it, barely, but only high enough to grip at some of Slade’s kevlar, pushing up into the kiss as much as he can. He can taste his own blood between them and ignores it, focusing on Slade instead, brows drawing up.

 _I don’t want to die_ , he thinks desperately, grip tightening as much as it can on Slade’s kevlar, but he can’t even dent it anymore.

Slade pulls back after a minute, but only enough to press their foreheads firmly together, Oliver’s blood smeared below Slade’s lower lip and at the corner of his mouth. Slade rubs his thumb over Oliver’s cheek, careful of the glove’s friction, and Oliver stares back up, eyelids lowered a bit.

“I’m sorry,” Oliver whispers again, backs of his eyes stinging more, “I only-” he angles his face away when he coughs but still gets blood on Slade’s cheek. Slade doesn’t move. “-cause you- _problems_ ,” Oliver manages to finish, raspy and strained. His fingers finally give up and go slack, grip sliding from Slade’s kevlar. Slade grips his cheek harder.

“Things are more interesting with you around,” Slade says low and quiet, lips pressing together as his jaw clenches tight, eyes shining a little in the flickering light.

Oliver squeezes his eyes shut, breathing getting raspier. He coughs again, more blood coming up the back of his throat. He might suffocate first, if his lung fills with it, but it feels like- most of it has gone out the wound just below his chest. He forces his eyes open again, but can only lift his eyelids halfway this time, the rest too much work. He stares up at Slade, doesn’t know what else to say, and Slade stares back, expression tense and brown eye angry, sad, _warm_ with-

 _I love you_ , Oliver thinks, can see it in Slade’s eye. If Oliver has to die, doing it for his friends, for the people he loves...that’s a better way to go than how he would have gone if he’d stayed with the League, isn’t it? If he’d finished his mission and killed his mother and sister. He never would have been able to feel this warmth in his chest, a flickering flame against the spreading numb.

Tears slip from the corners of his eyes, the pressure in his chest making the pain worse through the numb spreading up through it. “Thank you,” Oliver whispers, forces out, dragging his gaze away to the others briefly, all watching him.

Thea’s face red with tears down her cheeks and both hands over her mouth while Joe grips her shoulder tight, still trying to keep her grounded with his lips pressed hard together and brows drawn low. Shado’s eyes red with tears down her own cheeks, the same with Smoak’s, Diggle’s hand on Smoak’s shoulder and expression pinched as he keeps her pulled close. Even Harper looks misty eyed and Oliver barely talked to him. Still, even he helped change...everything, in his own way.

Oliver drags his eyes back up to Slade, vision starting to go black around the edges. It’s an old feeling, familiar, _terrifying_ , but...Ra’s was right, death comes for everyone.

Slade grips at him harder, even though Oliver can’t really feel it anymore-

“Do you want me to save him? Answer quickly,” someone says, and everyone looks over and up.

Nyssa stares back, brows drawn low and expression hard. “ _Now_ ,” she demands.

“ _Do it_ ,” Slade orders.

“Slade!” Shado snaps, and he glares over, “We don’t know-”

“ _I don’t care_ ,” Slade growls, cutting her off and glaring up at Nyssa, “ _ **Do it**_.”

Nyssa quickly steps forward as she pulls a syringe out of her robes and kneels down, stabbing it into Oliver’s chest as Oliver’s eyes start slipping shut, pushing down the plunger. The glowing, green, water-type liquid shoots down into his heart and Nyssa quickly pulls the syringe out once it’s done and steps back.

“Hold him down,” she orders firmly.

Slade’s eyes drop to Oliver as he grips tighter-

Oliver jerks sharply, eyes flying open wide and glowing brighter, and then he throws his head back and _screams_ , fingers tensing like claws while everyone jumps and he thrashes violently. He coughs up more blood as the wound through his chest seals closed and reaches up, claws at Slade’s cheek, his armor, Slade jerking his head out of reach while he grits his teeth. Slade shifts his hold and crosses Oliver’s wrists over his chest and grips them tight while Oliver keeps thrashing in his lap. Diggle and Shado quickly move down to try and get his feet while Joe quickly pulls Thea and Harper back, Diggle nearly getting a foot to his stomach and Shado nearly getting one to her head when they get loose.

“What’s _happening?!_ ” Felicity lets out, backed up near Thea, Joe, and Roy.

“What did you give him?!” Thea demands, looking over sharply at the woman. Thea’s eyes shift to Sara at the woman’s side when the woman doesn’t answer, but both of them stay quiet, eyes focused on Oliver. Oliver yells again, so- _furious_ as he thrashes wildly and Thea’s wide eyes dart back down, Joe tugging her back another step while keeping a grip on his sword.

“ _Kid!_ ” Slade growls out, Oliver jerking his head up and snapping his teeth like an animal before thrashing back again, eyes furious and unseeing, “ _Oliver!_ ”

“How long is this going to last?!” Joe demands, glaring over at the woman.

“He should settle down within a few minutes,” Nyssa answers, voice hard, dragging her eyes from Oliver to Joe then back, Sara’s expression pinched at her side.

They all watch, Slade, Shado, and Diggle all still trying to keep Oliver pinned while Felicity and Roy stay back with Thea and Joe. It lasts a few more minutes before Oliver finally starts to lose steam, thrashing and kicking and biting attempts gradually slowing further and further until he finally collapses back across Slade’s lap, panting harshly.

Slade doesn’t let up his grip, watching Oliver closely. “Oliver?” he asks after a minute, “ _Kid_.”

Oliver groans quiet and rough. He doesn’t move for a minute, two, three as his breathing gradually evens out, and then his eyes slowly flick open, staring sightlessly up at the stars and dark clouds. After a minute, his gaze finally focuses-

“ _ **Oliver**_ ,” Slade repeats low and firm.

Oliver’s gaze drags down from the sky, eyes meeting Slade’s. His brows slowly draw together and he shifts- stops, eyes snapping down to Slade’s hands gripping his wrists tightly. “What…?” he croaks, eyes shifting back up to Slade’s, then further back as he tilts his head back to- _Nyssa_ , Oliver thinks, thoughts slow, chaotic and fuzzy.

“ _Ollie?_ ” Thea asks, slowly stepping closer again. She just as slowly kneels down, Shado and Diggle coming up from near his feet to guard her better, watching him closely. “Are you-...okay?” Thea asks hesitantly, “This woman gave you some glowing green stuff and you started- your wounds healed but you started _freaking out_.”

Oliver stares blankly over at Thea for a worryingly long minute before what she said finally starts to get through the messy static and noise in his head, simultaneously blank like it’s been emptied out yet full of- _noise_ , just noise. The last time he felt this way was- His eyes widen and he looks sharply up at Nyssa again while he quickly rolls out of Slade’s hold onto his hands and knees, fingers digging rough into the cool sand. He slowly shifts back until he’s kneeling, eyes darting past Nyssa and Sara to-

Ra’s is still laying on the sand, skin lighter than it was and blood a wide pool around him. He’s-

 _He’s dead_ , Oliver realizes distantly, a hollow pit in his stomach. His eyes shift sharply back to Nyssa. “ _Why?_ ” he demands.

“I told you,” Nyssa answers firmly, looking down her nose at him with hard eyes, “Ta-er al Sah-fer would _grieve you_ ,” she bites out.

Oliver’s eyes shift over to Sara who’s already looking back, brows drawn up together and expression pinched tight with regret. Oliver drops his gaze after a few moments, lifting and sliding a hand through the blood still cooling just below his chest and feeling- nothing, no wound, no scar, no pain. Something hits him from the right and his head whips around only to find the top of Thea’s, brown hair reflecting the surrounding firelight while her face presses hard against his shoulder and her arms wrap around him tight, around his own arms and all.

“You’re _okay?_ ” she asks, _begs_ , muffled into his shoulder.

Oliver stares at the top of her head, frozen for a moment before he slowly reaches up and- grips her shoulder, being extra careful to be gentle, thoughts still focused yet distant. She squeezes her arms around him tighter. “I’m okay,” Oliver makes himself answer, clearing his throat when it comes out rough.

Thea lifts her head and glares up at him, eyes red and tears streaking down her cheeks again. “Don’t you _ever do that again!_ ” she orders.

“I agree,” Shado adds firmly, brows drawn low when Oliver drags his eyes over. He presses his lips hard together and looks back down at Thea, then over at Harper, who looks back, worried and uncertain, Smoak not much better. Joe glares at him while Diggle crosses his arms, looking both unsettled and unhappy.

Oliver looks over at Slade last, who’s still sitting where Oliver left him, brows drawn low and expression hard and unreadable. Oliver drops his gaze, giving Thea’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before shifting enough to return the hug, more to appease her right now than because he wants to, but...part of him means it, too. The Pit’s waters just leave him feeling...empty and full of static at the same time, both times, like an animal trying to get out of a cage. He needs to-

He gently nudges Thea back after a minute and she slowly unwinds her arms, but doesn’t really move away, and then he looks up at Nyssa, brows lowered. “Am I released?” he asks low.

“Yes,” Nyssa answers, “My father told me as he lay dying that his plans for you were not to become the next Ra’s al Ghul like I had thought, but to become my loyal blade and serve under my reign as the next Ra’s al Ghul.” Her dark eyes shift over to Sara and soften a little when Sara looks back. “But I already have a blade whose true loyalty lies with me.” Nyssa looks back down at him, gaze going hard again. “As Ra’s al Ghul, I release you from your duty to the League and forbid any attempts on the lives, or involvement, of those you hold dear and who they hold dear, now or in the future, as promised. You are free to choose your life from this moment forward.”

The League agents still silently surrounding the arena all drop to a knee with a hushed, unison, “ _Ra’s_ ,” and Nyssa inclines her head, then turns sharply and heads over to her father, the League agents rising and moving forward to help her gather him and the fallen member up.

Sara lingers, worried eyes on him. “I’m sorry, Ollie,” she says quietly, almost a whisper.

Oliver stares back, hard. Sara swallows and turns away after a long moment, heading over to help Nyssa. Oliver watches her go, then his gaze snaps left when Slade moves, getting to his feet. He offers a hand down and Oliver stares up, reaching over and taking it after Thea gets to her feet and letting Slade haul him to his own. Slade just looks at him and Oliver swallows a little, hand squeezing Slade’s involuntarily. Slade turns and starts pulling him off towards the trees.

“Wait, where are you going?” Felicity calls, “There’s still- _assassins?_ And it’s the middle of the night! _Guys!_ ”

“I think we’re better off not knowing,” Oliver hears Diggle reply dryly, followed by a low, annoyed grunt from Joe before Slade pulls him into the forest, bushes rustling quietly around his legs and muffling the world.

\--

Slade guides them through the foliage, pace gradually picking up as they weave around trees and fallen trunks until they reach the fuselage, the wreckage still broken in three places and dark with no signs of life. Slade pulls him down the small slope, across the clearing and in through the door still open in the side and then shoves him back roughly against the wall, quickly stepping forward and kissing him just as rough, teeth digging into his lip hard enough to bleed. Oliver’s hands come up, grip and tear at Slade’s kevlar like he couldn’t earlier and Slade growls into his mouth, digs fingers hard into his hips, drags them down his side and presses him tight against the wall with his own weight, pouches and grenade shells digging into Oliver’s chest and waist.

Oliver bites at Slade’s lower lip, sucks at his tongue and shoves back, flipping them around and pushing Slade against the wall. Slade growls and flips them again, shoving away as he takes a step back and grips the side of Oliver’s neck, Oliver’s back hitting metal. Slade glares at him in the dark, dimly visible by the moonlight coming in through the gaps overhead while he tightens his grip on Oliver’s neck, not enough to choke him, but Oliver _feels_ it and it just makes his heart beat harder. Slade doesn’t say anything and Oliver feels the guilt hit him through the adrenaline and yanks him back close, mouths crashing again while he pants. It’s:

_**I hate you**._

A sharp nip of teeth.

_**I love you**._

Blunt nails dragging down Oliver’s side.

_**I’m sorry**._

Oliver gripping Slade tight.

_**Don’t ever do that again**._

Slade gripping him back hard.

Slade shoves him harder against the wall and Oliver scrambles at Slade’s kevlar, on the verge of tearing it off. Slade jerks back long enough to help him, barely restrained fingers prying at zippers and straps and buckles. Slade’s sheathed swords hit the floor of the plane first, then his kevlar, his top, Oliver’s hands sliding over warm skin before yanking him forward again, kissing him roughly and shuddering at the feel of Slade’s stubble rubbing across his chin, the corners of his mouth. Slade presses him to the wall again, pressing them flush together from chest to hip and Oliver pulls in a breath between kisses, digs his fingers into Slade’s hair while spreading his legs. Slade reaches down and lifts one, and Oliver wraps it around his waist, already panting as Slade grinds forward. It’s hard, _painful_ , and Oliver groans, muffled against Slade’s mouth, reaches a hand down and back to grip at Slade’s ass and pull him closer.

Slade growls into his mouth again, bites at his lower lip hard and grinds forward harder, cock rubbing hard against his own through their pants. Oliver grips at Slade tighter as the pain and pleasure ricochet up his spine to behind his eyelids, fingers digging into Slade’s hair, his pants. Slade grips the underside of his thigh bruisingly tight and keeps grinding, breaths panting hot between them while Oliver starts rocking his hips back, the pleasure climbing higher with the adrenaline. Slade devours his mouth while Oliver tries to devour his, takes every growl and rough grunt, every hot breath that meets his own and the warm, hot slide of Slade’s tongue against his, over his teeth and along roof of his mouth, Slade’s fingers digging into his thigh through his pant leg, the ones gripping his side hard enough to bruise. The hand on his side slides down and grips his hip bruisingly tight while Slade grinds faster, harder.

It hurts, but Oliver doesn’t want him to _stop_ , wants to feel the pleasure sparking up his spine with the pain, all throughout his limbs, his fingers, wants to groan into Slade’s mouth while his cock leaks hard in his pants between them, rubbing against Slade’s just as hard as his own, wants Slade’s body against his, smooth and scarred, rolling against his like two waves that barely know how to meet in the middle, move seamlessly but always on the verge of crashing apart as much as they do together. He wants to be _alive_.

He almost died again.

Oliver grips at Slade harder, slides the hand on Slade’s ass up and grips the edge of Slade’s pants instead, thumb curling inside the hem as he moans loud and ragged into Slade’s mouth, shuddering at the pleasure and the lick of arousal Slade’s growl sends through him like a shock as the pleasure builds and _builds_ , sweat gathering between them as Slade presses him harder back against the wall-

The pleasure spikes, hard and sudden, goes through him like lightning and Oliver gasps, breaking the kiss, pulls Slade so close they’re almost one while he keeps grinding his hips forward through the tidal wave. Slade shoves him back harder against the wall, the metal groaning faintly as Slade keeps grinding for a minute, then follows him over the edge with a rough groan, deep and broken, like gravel and glass.

Slade keeps grinding them through it, the pleasure as high as the pain as their orgasms slowly start to ebb and fall, wash out with the adrenaline. Slade’s head pulls away, drops and he presses his mouth to Oliver’s neck to bite and suck sharp, hot panting kisses up the length to his jaw, his ear. Slade doesn’t say anything, just growls low and rough before pulling him away from the wall and shoving at his pants. Oliver gets his thoughts working again enough to yank his boots and socks off first, feels dirt and metal and grass beneath his feet and reaches forward to shove at Slade’s pants after Slade gets his own boots and socks off. Slade shoves them the rest of the way off and then reaches for him again, grips his jaw and yanks him forward while coiling an arm tight around his waist, pressing them together again. Oliver groans roughly as their mouths meet at the feel of all the- skin, _so much of it_ , overheated and enough to make him sweat again where they press together, even in the cooler island air.

Slade yanks him down and Oliver goes, feels his back hit the dirt, metal, and grass, can smell it better this close but focuses on Slade, the way the smells mix with his scent, more familiar than- a lot of things have been since leaving the island, visceral in the way smells tied to memories are, even though they never-

Slade grips his thigh again, braces an elbow on the floor of the plane and keeps his other hand on Oliver’s jaw as he grinds forward, friction rough and painful and- real, the pain is _real._ Oliver isn’t numb or cold, his body isn’t heavy. He’s _alive_.

He wraps a leg back around Slade’s waist and pulls him closer, grinds up to meet Slade’s thrusts and groans rough and loud into Slade’s mouth, can already feel the pleasure building again as his cock gives a twitch. Slade grinds harder, barely gives him time to breathe, arm still wrapped around his waist, the only buffer between him and the floor. Oliver wraps his own around the back of Slade’s shoulders, grips his jaw in return and tilts his own head, changes the angle and makes the kiss deeper, panting fast and rough as Slade grinds faster, Oliver’s own hips following as the pain-pleasure shudders up his spine.

“ _Slade_ ,” he growls, _groans_ between kisses, drags his blunt nails down Slade’s back like the pleasure drags up his spine, digs in and burns across his insides and feels Slade shudder, hears him growl, grinding Oliver’s ass roughly into the floor with his hips.

Slade breaks the kiss, bites harsh kisses down to his jaw, the scar down his neck and Oliver tilts his head back, groaning loudly out into the plane instead as the pleasure builds harder at the base of his spine, deep and _aching_. He _wants it, **god he wants**_. Slade’s teeth sink in either side of the scar, over his pulse point and Oliver sucks in a sharp breath, back arching. Slade’s hips rock hard against his, painful, punishing, _good_ , and Oliver shudders hard, digs his nails into Slade’s back as the pleasure builds, _spikes_ almost _painfully_ again-

He comes so hard he sees white spots, eyes squeezing shut on a rough shout as he jerks beneath Slade with it, against him. Slade presses him to the floor with his weight as he growls, following him over with a rough, gravelly shout of his own buried and muffled into the side of Oliver’s neck.

They both grind through it again, friction eased by the precum and cum between them this time while their harsh breaths pant out into the fuselage, breaking the silence. Oliver slides his hand up, grips roughly at Slade’s hair when Slade drags his tongue over his neck, realizes he’s bleeding from Slade’s _teeth_. Oliver drags Slade’s head up and kisses him hard, devours Slade’s mouth as much as Slade tries to devour his, tastes his own blood on Slade’s tongue and it just- makes his heart beat harder, faster than the hundred miles per hour it’s already going, makes the- animal _thing_ the Lazarus Pit made in him higher, sends a spike of something primal down his spine and sets his senses off like fireworks behind his eyes.

Slade pulls back with a last, harsh bite to his lower lip and lifts his head enough to look down at him in the dim. Oliver stares back up, can see the glow of his eyes reflecting off of Slade’s and swallows while they pant, trying to catch their breaths. Slade reaches up and grips his jaw again, grip gradually getting harder until it’s almost bruisingly tight, brows drawing low before he lets up. Oliver swallows, makes himself hold Slade’s hard stare and slowly- hesitantly reaches up and grips Slade’s cheek. Slade’s eyes close tightly, briefly and the guilt hits Oliver again, opening his mouth- but Slade leans down and kisses him before he can apologize again, spill his remorse all over the floor like his blood all over the sand, eyes slamming shut as he leans up into it.

“I never want to do that to you again,” Oliver whispers roughly, honestly, breaking the kiss. He keeps his eyes shut for just a moment longer.

Slade’s grip tightens on his jaw again and then Oliver feels lips and stubble drag roughly down his cheek, stop down near his ear. “ _ **Don’t. Ever**_ ,” Slade growls low and menacing, other arm tightening hard around his waist.

Oliver swallows, nodding once. He still hasn’t had time to process everything, killing- Ra’s, his _teacher_ , the man who gave him a second life, knowing that everyone is safe from the League, Slade’s friends and family, _Oliver’s_ family, but nearly dying has. He’s already died once, knew it intimately and _never_ wanted to feel it again. It’s terrifying, how peaceful it can become, like falling asleep, but colder, number, like everything he is slowly shuts down like a computer, and there’s not a damn thing he could do to stop it.

Ra’s was alive for six hundred years.

Oliver opens his eyes and stares up at the dark, familiar curved ceiling of the fuselage, the moonlight coming through the cracks and holes and gapes.

Was he afraid in the end? Or had he truly made his peace with it centuries ago?

Oliver squeezes his eyes shut, that gaping hole in his stomach tightening at the thought of Ra’s, at the memory of stabbing him, tearing into him like an animal. He did it to survive, so his family, Slade, and Slade’s friends and family would survive, but that doesn’t erase the pain, the _ache_ of killing someone he’d looked up to, he’d sworn and been loyal to, someone he would have taken a bullet, sword, or arrow for once.

 _I killed him_ , Oliver thinks, fingers curling against Slade’s back and cheek, _And I’m alive._ He has to live with it, but he’s also... _free_. It doesn’t feel like he thought it would. It’s not the same as the way he felt when he was finally free of Fyers, or Ivo, or even in Starling City. It’s no longer a chain around his neck, but at the same time, the weight of being tied to the League has been replaced with the weight of _not_ being tied to them.

 _What am I going to do?_ Oliver thinks, opening his eyes. Slade shifts back after a moment and looks down at him, and Oliver watches him back. Oliver leans his head up, just a little, almost desperately, and Slade studies him a moment longer before lowering down to kiss him, lips meeting slow and firm and pressing the back of his head to the floor. Oliver focuses on it instead of all the thoughts in his head, the ‘ _what if_ ’s and ‘ _what now_ ’s. Slade pulls away and sits up after a minute and Oliver opens his eyes, gaze following as he sits back through a slant of light and then slips back into the shadows beyond it, mismatched eyes focused down on him. One of Slade’s hands moves, slides down his chest and stops where the sword had gone through, thumb rubbing at the dried blood mostly flaked off from all their grinding.

Slade’s brows lower, eyes shifting back up to his face. “Stop being a martyr, _you stupid kid_ ,” he growls low and quiet.

Oliver’s lips press hard together. “You just found Grant,” he replies quietly, “And Joe. And I just found my mother and sister, you and Shado. I couldn’t let the League destroy that.”

“And what happens if you destroy yourself in the process?” Slade demands, a harder growl, and Oliver’s heart squeezes tight in his chest. Slade’s fingers tighten over his skin. “Stop making these decisions by yourself.”

Oliver searches Slade’s eyes. “You want me to make them with you?” he asks quieter. Slade’s hand slides up the center of his chest as he bends forward back into the moonlight and he grips the side of Oliver’s neck over the healing bite wound, leaning back over him on his elbow braced on the floor.

“You are not the only one _here_ ,” Slade growls back, brows lowered and brown eye- _angry_ , but not just angry. It’s not something Oliver can put a word to.

Oliver swallows a little, slowly reaches over and- slides his hand up Slade’s arm, gripping his shoulder. “I know,” he forces out, almost a whisper as his throat goes tight, “I’m _trying_.” Because Slade’s right, he’s not- the only one that should be making decisions that effect the both of them. He’s just- he’s never _been_ in a relationship like this, especially not as he is now, when he’s still changing from something that views relationships as weaknesses into something that- might view them as strengths, someday, again. He used to think that, back when they were first on this island, but he lost it along the way with all the pain and heartache.

Slade bends down and presses their foreheads hard together, gaze still on him, and it’s that touch more than anything that hits Oliver like weighted bricks right to the center of his chest, making his eyes sting through the pressure.

“Does love always hurt this much?” he whispers wetly, vision starting to swim.

Slade grips him tighter and tilts his head, kissing him firmly, slowly, with an unending patience Oliver might never have, didn’t know _Slade_ had, and Oliver leans up into it, gripping at Slade harder. It’s still too much, burns him up from the inside and leaves all of him- _hurting_ , like a giant bruise. He almost can’t _stand it, feeling **this much**_. Slade slowly lets his weight press him to the floor and Oliver lets it, wraps his arms around Slade’s back and shoulders and pulls him closer, deepening the kiss. Slade’s fingers slide up from his jaw and back through the side of his hair before burying themselves into it, giving Oliver’s waist a squeeze where Slade’s arm is still trapped between him and the floor, and Oliver just- wants to _stay here_ , like this, _aching_ and _warm_ and- kissing the person he loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. I. [/SWEATS NERVOUSLY] I wasn't sure if I should cut those last 6 pages off and put them in the next chapter but at the same time I didn't...want to leave everyone hanging. sO. IDK. IDK WHAT TO DO. So I left them in here. Screams.


	38. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had this playing https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DLIpWLLPnu4 - "War Anthem" by Max Richter for the end section water bit but I'm not sure it quite fits

Moira stares out the living room window, gently worrying the thin chain around her neck and trying not to focus on the thick, heavy, metaphorical one almost enough to choke the breath out of her. Confessing everything of the past five years to her children helped, their...acceptance helped, if not their not-quite forgiveness, but it all somehow both solidified her inaction yet made it...harder to deal with. And she can’t help but wonder, with how many people Oliver has killed...did he get that from _her_ , somehow?

She searches her reflection in the glass.

Logically, no, he couldn’t have, but the people he’s...killed, at least the ones she knows about, were from the List. Maybe, somehow, he- But what does that mean for _Thea?_

Does it mean anything?

Muffled footfalls draw her out of her thoughts and she turns when a guard’s reflection enters the room behind her own. “Any news on my daughter?” she asks, making her fingers stop fiddling with her necklace.

“Not yet, ma’am. We’re still looking,” the guard reports, dark brown hair over brown eyes in a dark suit. She might have known his name an hour ago, but the worry is devouring everything.

“Please, keep looking,” she says.

The guard nods and turns, leaving her to silence and damnation again. Moira turns back to the window, glancing briefly at the black screen of the tv at the other end of the room as the silence settles in. It’s so loud, nothing but her own heartbeat to fill this big, old, empty house. She misses hearing the sound of her children’s laughter.

\-----

“I can’t believe they just left us here,” Roy says, hands shoved in his pockets where he’s standing next to a tree. Everyone looks over at him in the firelight from the little arena still set up in the sand a little further down and he looks up in thought, then sighs. “Yeah. Nevermind, I can.”

Joe snorts, arms crossed as he looks away again.

“What I really can’t believe is that _your_ dad,” Roy points at Joe, “Is dating _your_ brother.” He points at Thea, eyebrows rising. “No wonder Ghost got pissed when I said he was dating a woman.”

Felicity sputters while Joe glares over sharply and Thea shakes her head, staring at him. Diggle pats Felicity’s back while she mutters, “Swallowed wrong.”

Roy shrugs helplessly, looking between Joe and Thea. “Must be weird for you guys.”

Joe rolls his eyes skywards while Thea shrugs back. “Gives me something to tease Ollie about that isn’t five years past and...bloody,” she mutters towards the end, slanting her eyes away. Joe snorts quietly.

“Well, at least the assassins left the torches,” Felicity says after a beat of the sea quietly lapping against the shore further down, looking around. Shado had them move up back to the trees, said something about not being exposed even though they _should_ be the only ones on the island now. At least they’ve got some light to see by.

“It will keep the wolves away,” Joe agrees idly.

Roy’s eyes snap over as he straightens. “You really weren’t kidding?” he lets out. Joe just snorts again while Roy’s eyes dart around, crossing his own arms. “I think I hate this place,” he mutters.

Diggle pats Felicity’s shoulder gently, her eyes darting up to meet his, then makes his way over to Shado guarding their small perimeter, her eyes focused on the inner pitch of the forest. “How are you holding up?” Diggle asks quietly.

Shado lets out a soft breath, barely glancing at him before her eyes are back on the forest, alert. “I know I’m tense,” she says quietly, beating right through his subtle question.

There shouldn’t be anyone else on the island, save Wilson and Oliver off somewhere doing- who _knows_ what, he doesn’t want to think about it, but she had them move up off the beach, giving them the opportunity to at least try and hide and get away if anything did happen, instead of being open and exposed on the sand with nowhere to go. Diggle understands her vigilance, it’s familiar, he’s seen it in soldiers and experienced it himself, but given her history with the island and what happened with Ra’s, he is concerned.

“The last time I was here,” Shado starts after a moment, keeping her voice low and private, “I lost everyone I cared about.” She looks over at him, then back over her shoulder briefly at the rest of the group before looking out into the forest again, arrow notched and bow aimed low, at the ready. “I don’t want to go through that again.”

“I understand,” Diggle replies, keeping his own voice low, then, “We _should_ be the only ones here, right?”

“I’ve found this place has a way of surprising people,” Shado answers slowly, lower, looking over at him sharply, “Not in good ways.”

Diggle’s lips press together and he looks out at the forest too, resting a hand on his gun holstered on his hip.

A few minutes tick by, five, ten, and then the hair on the back of his neck stands on end, like he’s being watched, his senses focusing. He slowly scans the forest, but he doesn’t see or hear anything.

 _Still_.

“Do you feel that?” he asks, almost a whisper.

Shado’s tense at his side, fingers tight on the end of her arrow. “Tell Joe we’re not alone,” she whispers back, slowly moving further into the trees.

“Are you sure?” Diggle double checks.

Shado pauses and glances back at him briefly. “Don’t ignore that feeling here,” she warns, then starts moving, disappearing between the trees.

Diggle tries to keep his movements casual, keeps his hand on his gun while he heads over to Joe, Thea, Roy, and Felicity all hovering together near the base of a tree. Joe’s eyes are on the forest, hand on the hilt of his sword. “We have company,” Diggle says quietly, drawing all but Joe’s eyes over.

“I know,” Joe replies low, straightening.

Thea and Roy’s eyes dart to Joe while Felicity looks to Diggle, then down at her tablet. She bites her lower lip and dims her screen down as low as it will go before turning it on and tapping at a few things. “I’m trying to ping a signal off of any devices nearby,” she whispers, brows drawn together, “I’m not getting- _Wait_ ,” she stops, eyes widening.

Something comes glinting out from between the trees at Thea, her eyes going wide, and Joe quickly draws his sword, deflecting the knife sideways into the bushes with a sharp _shing_ of metal on metal and a low rustle. They hear someone whistle and more bushes rustling and then a man steps out from around a tree up ahead, brown hair short with a long, black trench coat. He cocks his head to the side.

“Well, like I said,” the man starts with an accent like Joe’s. Australian? “If they _were_ in the area, he would’ve jumped out to save his sister.” The man tilts his head back, looking over his shoulder. “Unless he’s more heartless than even you gave him credit for,” he adds with a small smirk.

A woman steps through the trees, out of the shadows enough to make out her face in the firelight behind them, dark brown hair pulled back-

“Agent...Michaels?” Thea asks uncertainly on the name, brows drawing together at the same time Diggle lets out, “ _Lyla?_ ”

Everyone’s eyes dart to him briefly before focusing again as more people step out, a man with sharp metal claws on the ends of his knuckles, attached to some metal things he’s holding, a woman with a white, half mask over the upper half of her face and katana that gleams strangely in the light, and a man who’s skin doesn’t...look like skin, far more textured and jagged than it should be, no hair, and with teeth that look like razors when he smirks, wide and menacing. He’s easily the tallest of all of them, towering over everyone by a foot and they all stare up, eyes wide while Thea and Felicity shudder.

“Lyla, what are you doing here?” Diggle asks urgently, dragging his eyes back to her.

“We tracked your signal rebounding off of Merlyn Global’s satellite,” she answers, expression pinching before her brows lower a bit, eyes hardening, “We’ve been keeping tabs on anyone connected to Oliver Queen and got a hit. Where is he, Johnny? Him and Wilson. We know they’re here.”

“Like we’d tell _you_ ,” Thea hisses angrily, fingers curling tight at her sides.

Lyla’s lips press together as she looks over at her team and she jerks her chin forward, eyes shifting back to Diggle. “Then we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

“Dig,” Felicity says, quiet and worried, and Diggle draws his gun out, brows drawn low together.

“Lyla, we don’t need to do this,” he says low and tense.

Lyla draws her own gun, raising and aiming it at him. “I think we do. _Move!_ ” she orders to her team.

They start running at them and they all tense- A black arrow goes through the big crocodile looking guy’s shoulder out from between the trees just before Lyla starts firing, the group scattering like birds.

\--

Oliver finishes tying his second boot, then stands as he looks around the fuselage. It hasn’t changed much from the last time he was here. There’s more overgrown plants more inside than out, green climbing up the far side wall closer to the forest than the clearing and near where he and Shado used to sleep at the other end near where the cockpit was, but Slade’s area at the back looks the most untouched by time, almost like he was just here.

 _He was_ , Oliver thinks, expression tightening a little as he looks over, watching Slade strap his swords onto his back. For Oliver it was five years ago, but for Slade it’s been...far less time.

Slade finishes with his swords and looks over, their gazes catching. He looks around at the plane for a minute, taking it in like Oliver was, then walks over to one of the gray crates stacked back near his old sleeping area and flicks the locks up, pushing the lid open. He looks down at the empty guns, the packed miscellaneous, then digs in and- pulls his old mask out, half black, half orange. Oliver’s always hated it, even if he never said anything. Slade studies it for a long moment before tossing it back in and dropping the lid shut, locking it all up again.

It’s quiet for a minute. Oliver opens his mouth-

Distant gunfire reaches their ears and they both tense, heads whipping towards it. Slade pulls his swords off his back and tosses him one before running out the side entrance, Oliver following all the way back up near the beach-

He sees Joe and Harper first, both trying to fight off some guy in a trench coat while Thea stands placed in front of Felicity, who’s tapping furiously at her tablet, worried eyes darting up to Diggle and Shado trying to fend off two others, a woman with a katana and a- tall man with strange skin, mostly dodging the two rather than attacking. Another man with metal claws and a woman in a suit stand off towards one of the trees, observing while the woman taps at her own tablet. Her eyes dart up and spot Oliver and Slade and she quickly pockets the tablet, raising her gun.

“They’re here!” she shouts, “Croc, Katana! Reprioritize! Harkness, stay on the boys! Tiger, handle Gulong!”

The woman with the sword - Katana, comes at Oliver, sharply changes direction and darts fast and quick as she dodges Shado’s arrows while the huge guy- Croc, shoves Diggle back hard enough to nearly send him flying into a tree and runs at Slade. Oliver and Slade split off, Oliver running towards Katana while Slade lets out a growl and heads for Croc.

Oliver and Katana’s swords hit and her blade- _wails_ , a desperate, moaning sound as the strange light reflection on it shifts, goes sharp and violet before fading to a dull crimson and Oliver stares, wide eyes darting up to meet hers.

“ _You can see it_ ,” she says in Japanese, frozen briefly before changing direction and swinging at him again, Oliver dodging back jerkily in his surprise. He quickly regains his footing as he focuses and swings Slade’s sword, shoving her back into a tree with gritted teeth. Her back hits with a loud, hard _thump_ and Katana slumps a little before running at him again with a sharp shout, swinging her sword hard and quick.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Lyla!” Diggle tries to reason, gun clicking empty at the same time hers does. She throws a punch.

“They put my boss in a coma and dismantled my entire facility, John!” Lyla shouts back, spinning into a hard kick Diggle barely blocks before she’s throwing another hard punch. “Good men and women! If you won’t hand them over, I’m taking them!”

Diggle grunts as he blocks another hit and swings his own fist, gritting his teeth.

Joe swings his sword up to block the bladed boomerangs in Harkness’ grip, wielding them like knives as Harkness spins with a kick, Joe shifting back before swinging his sword again, Harkness blocking with both boomerangs and a smirk.

“So you’re Wilson’s welp,” Harkness says, smirk widening when Joe glares. Harkness throws a boomerang at Roy when Roy tries swinging a punch from Harkness’ left, Roy quickly jerking back to evade and then ducking when the boomerang comes back, Harkness catching it. “Not as fast as your father, but still. To keep up with me? Impressive,” he adds, quickly spinning sideways and Joe shifts forward when his weight drops at the lack of resistance while Harkness backhands Roy across the face with his fist, then swings a boomerang forward, Joe catching a glimpse of glinting silver coming towards the side of his face as he tries to get his footing back, eyes wide-

Something hits Harkness from behind and he grunts sharply, dropping to his knees. Thea swings Joe’s sword sheath even harder into his face and he drops back to the dirt and foliage with a pained groan, boomerangs dropping to the forest floor from his hands. Thea glares down at him and hits him hard again for good measure, making sure he’s out before looking up at Joe and Roy.

They both stare back.

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” Roy lets out.

Joe huffs and looks forward, finds Oliver, Diggle, Shado, and his father. “Tie him up or kill him,” Joe orders, slanting a hard look over at them before running towards Shado trying to fend off Tiger’s blades with her bow-

An arrow goes through Tiger’s shoulder and he shouts, head thrown back. Joe’s eyes dart to track the arrow’s trajectory briefly but he sees nothing but the pitch of the forest and focuses again, taking advantage of the distraction and swinging his sword forward while Shado hits Tiger hard in the gut with her bow to keep him off balance- The upper half of Tiger’s head flies off into the bushes, blood spurting out as his body drops, limbs twitching jerkily against the dirt floor. Shado’s eyes dart into the forest as she pants before she tears her gaze away, giving Joe a sharp nod and running over to help Diggle.

Slade swings his blade, Croc dodging back before swinging his claws forward, making _Slade_ jump back out of his extended reach. His arms are thick and long, almost like tree trunks, covered in scales and hard ridges with three inch, black nails at the end.

 _Like a crocodile_ , Slade thinks, brows furrowed low.

He’s never seen anything like it, but now isn’t the time to wonder.

Slade darts forward and then has to jump back again when Croc snaps his teeth at him, two rows of two inch long razors. Croc smirks and runs at him and Slade tenses, shifting the grip on his sword. He dodges left at the last second and rolls under Croc’s outstretched arm, slicing his blade straight through Croc’s right leg until he hits bone to the sound of Croc’s rough, loud yowl. Slade spins and shoves hard as he comes up, sending Croc over a fallen tree trunk-

The landmine explosion lights up the forest like daylight and blinds them all, everyone throwing their arms up and squeezing their eyes shut as it rocks the ground, sending dirt and blood and bits and pieces of Croc up into the air as their eardrums ring. Slade gets his eyes open and finds Joe first, makes sure he’s okay, then looks for Shado and Oliver-

Oliver drops his arm when he catches a blade coming at him from below it and shoves back sharply, jerking his sword up to deflect Katana’s, the metal ringing strangely when their blades hit. Katana comes at him first but he moves faster, spins around and watches her blade go past his face, sees-

_Faces?_

Anguished faces reflected in the metal, all silently screaming and begging, clawing desperately like they’re trying to get out, can just barely _hear_ them-

Oliver focuses and spins hard, slicing quick. Katana freezes as his blade goes through her stomach, widened eyes on his and sword frozen in a forward lunge just to his right. Blood dribbles out past her lips and down her chin and Oliver rips his sword out, quickly moving back and watching her knees hit the dirt, her sword clamoring out of her grip with another odd, hollow ring off a fallen branch before going silent, her free hand going to her stomach. Her eyes stay up on him for a long moment before dropping to her sword, reaching for it while Oliver tenses-

He freezes when she turns it on herself and _falls_ onto it chest first, right through her heart, landing face first in the dirt as her blood pools out from her wounds, her breaths gurgling quietly as her fingers wrap tighter around the hilt. Oliver stares, watches her until her last breath wheezes out and what little he can see of her eye around the curve of her white mask goes dim. Something swirls across the blade sticking out of her back then, and he sees- _Her face_ , briefly, unmasked, intertwining with a man’s before they both disappear into the sword’s reflection like smoke on water and the blade goes dark and quiet.

Oliver stares for another long moment before slowly crouching down and reaching forward, shifting her body onto its side and slowly drawing the sword out. He reaches over and unties the sheath from her belt and slides the blade in, slowly standing and staring down at it before looking over to the others.

Diggle’s kneeling down on a knee next to the woman in charge - Lyla, he called her - who’s bound and kneeling in the dirt, the last survivor of her team- Harkness, still out cold where Slade drops him next to her before pointing his sword at the woman’s throat. Diggle looks up sharply. “ _Don’t_ ,” he says firmly.

“She tried to kill us,” Slade growls low.

“I can’t let you kill her,” Diggle replies, brows lowered. Slade looks over at Diggle and Diggle takes a breath, shaking his head. “She’s my ex-wife,” he confesses, and they all still.

Slade’s expression hardens after a moment and then stabs his sword down through Harkness’ chest, who chokes out a breath, eyes flying open wide. Slade twists the blade sharply before ripping it out and flicking the blood off, Harkness’ breaths choking and gasping quietly as he dies while Slade walks over to Joe. “She’s _your_ problem,” Slade growls over his shoulder.

Diggle looks to Lyla, who slowly drags her eyes up from watching Harkness take his last breath, and glares over at Diggle. “You might as well kill me too,” she says firmly, “Because I’m not stopping.”

Diggle’s lips press together while his brows furrow low. “Oliver just killed Ra’s al Ghul about an hour before you showed up,” he says, and Lyla stills, eyes widening. “He nearly died in the process. I think that earns him _something_.”

“He put my boss in a coma and wiped out our _entire facility_ ,” Lyla returns, low and hard, “Took the lives of countless, _good_ soldiers.”

“You kidnapped his sister, a civilian, and _tortured_ her,” Diggle returns in the same. He’s not condoning Oliver’s actions, doesn’t. Lyla’s right, Oliver killed a lot of good men and women that night, but that doesn’t mean he agrees with Lyla and her boss, either. They stooped just as low as the League did. He just wishes he could make Lyla _see_ that.

...Then again, maybe she can. War changes things, good people. He already knows that from experience.

Lyla’s lips press hard together and she looks away, then her eyes shift up to Thea Queen, who’s glaring down at her between Wilson’s son and Harper, arms crossed and shoulders hunched up. Lyla watches her brother walk over to her and Thea’s eyes finally jerk away to meet his. He reaches up and grips her shoulder gently, leans close and says something low and quiet Lyla can’t hear and Thea shakes her head, expression shifting to concern before reaching forward and hugging him tight, pressing her cheek to his bare shoulder and turning her face away where Lyla can’t see.

Lyla’s chest gives a squeeze as the guilt resurfaces and she tries to shove it down as she looks away. She did what she had to, they all did, and they followed their orders. It was for the greater good.

“He’s still a mass murderer,” she says quieter, tone still hard.

“I don’t disagree, but he hasn’t actually killed anyone, save Ra’s, in a while,” Diggle returns, drawing her eyes back up to his.

“Doesn’t change anything, Johnny,” Lyla says, brows lowering further, “It’s only a matter of time before he takes more lives. We can’t take that risk. _I won’t_.”

Diggle sighs quietly, lips pinching as his heart squeezes in his chest. “I understand. And I’m sorry,” he says, and Lyla stills when the presence behind her finally registers, eyes darting ahead. Oliver Queen is gone-

Something pinches at the back of her neck and the world goes dark-

Diggle catches Lyla when she falls forward, taking a breath, and looks up. “She’s not dead, right?” he double checks.

Oliver shakes his head a little. “Unconscious,” he answers, then looks down at Wilson’s sword and the new katana in his hand, frowning a little. “She shouldn’t have this,” he says quieter, more to himself than Diggle, and looks up before heading over to Wilson.

Felicity shuffles over towards Diggle’s back left after a minute, looking between him and Lyla. “So...ex-wife,” she says, quiet and uncertain. Diggle pauses and looks back over his shoulder at her. Felicity smiles a little, but it’s strained and her brows are drawn together. Her eyes drop to Lyla. “What are we going to do with her?”

“Keep her out and drop her off near whatever she arrived in,” Diggle answers after a moment with a sigh, gently laying Lyla on her side on the ground, “And make sure there aren’t any more A.R.G.U.S. here with her.”

“Something’s giving off a bigger signal West of here,” Felicity says after a moment, drawing Diggle’s eyes over again. Her expression is still pinched and uncomfortable, but she tries to smile again. “I can show you where,” she offers uncertainly.

Oliver watches Diggle and Smoak for a moment before looking to Shado, frowning when he catches her staring off into the trees, an- arrow gripped tight in her hand, different from the League ones she’s been using. It looks a lot like-

There’s quiet rustling after a minute that gradually gets louder and louder and Slade and Oliver tense, picking up on it first, soon followed by everyone else who follow their gazes out into the dark of the forest. Someone slowly limps out of it from between the trees, long, dark, messy hair with a few streaks of gray pulled back with a gray streaked beard just as long, face angled down a bit, too dark to see who it is, but the build is of a man, wearing-

 _The clothes from Fyers’ soldiers?_ Oliver realizes. They’re torn up and worn ragged, but-

The man lifts his head and Oliver, Slade, and Shado freeze, then Shado runs forward, dropping the arrow and bow in her hand. “ _Father?!_ ” she lets out in Mandarin.

The hardness in Yao Fei’s eyes melts away some and he grunts quietly as she hits him, her arms wrapping around him tight. “ _Shado_ ,” he nearly wheezes, voice raspy like he hasn’t talked in years, arms slower to come up. But once they do, his grip on her goes just as tight as hers on him and he squeezes his eyes shut, bending his head forward as Shado buries her face into his shoulder.

Oliver and Slade stare while everyone else frowns.

“Wait. ‘Yao Fei’ as in Shado’s _father_ , Yao Fei?” Felicity asks incredulously, eyes darting between them.

“ _We thought you died!_ ” Shado says, muffled.

Yao Fei shakes his head but doesn’t answer, just holds onto her tighter.

Slade frowns, eyes narrowing. “You’ve been here the whole time?” he asks low and suspicious.

Yao Fei opens his eyes and lifts his head enough to speak, not letting go, and Shado doesn’t either. “Fyers took me to the other side of the island, past the camp where he used to hold old prisoners, and you. My leg was injured from your escape. They did not treat it. I could not walk for a long time, or travel long distances even longer. The island is big.”

Shado finally pulls back enough to look up at him, brushing a hand over his rough, dirty cheek and some of his overgrown beard, tears streaming down her face. “ _You’re alive_ ,” she says, searching his face, her expression crumpling again as she buries her face back against his shoulder. “ _I grieved you. I am so sorry_.” Yao Fei brushes his hand over her hair and she just holds onto him tighter, then pulls back quickly and looks down. “Your leg?” she asks urgently in English this time, looking back up.

“ _The herbs healed the infection, but the bullet is still inside_ ,” Yao Fei answers in Mandarin.

Shado’s expression pinches sharply and Oliver finally gets his feet working, slowly walking over, still staring. He can’t believe-

He stops a few feet away when Yao Fei looks back. Oliver shakes his head a little, eyes still wide. “I’m so sorry,” he breathes, “I thought- We _all thought_ you were _dead_. We didn’t find you at Fyers’ camp before or after it was destroyed, after we got away. We should’ve- _I should’ve looked for you,_ ” he finishes, grip tightening hard on the swords while the guilt hits him like a _freight train_. Yao Fei’s been here, alive, _the **whole time**_.

“You three got off this island,” Yao Fei says firmly, closing his eyes and taking a long breath before looking between them, at Oliver, Shado, and Slade, then back to Shado, “That is all I wanted.” Shado’s eyes well again and she pulls her father into another hug, careful of his leg. Oliver swallows, throat going tight. Yao Fei looks back to him after a moment and studies him, brows drawing lower together. “You have changed much since I last saw you,” he says quieter.

Oliver takes a breath and nods once, fingers curling tighter around the swords again. “ _I don’t think you would be proud of me_ ,” he says quietly in Mandarin.

Yao Fei’s eyebrows shoot up and his eyes dart down to Shado, then back, putting the pieces together. “You taught him,” he says, looking back to his daughter.

Shado huffs a breath and nods. “ _He was a good student, after he stopped complaining_ ,” she jokes wetly.

Slade stays quiet, still tense, but slowly sheathes his sword and steps closer to Oliver. Oliver jerks out of his thoughts and drags his eyes over, offering Slade his other sword back. Slade takes it after a moment and sheathes it with the other one.

Oliver looks back to Yao Fei, swallowing a little. “You can finally go home,” he says quieter, softer, cringes a little at the memory of Fyers saying that to him. He won’t do that to Yao Fei. He _will_ get Yao Fei home, no matter the cost.

Yao Fei looks back, then down to Shado, who’s looking up at him again, eyes watery and hopeful. He shakes his head a little. “I am still sentenced here,” he says quietly. Shado’s lips press hard together as her brows draw low.

“I can help with that,” Oliver offers, drawing both their eyes over. He can get one more favor out of Sara, if not Nyssa, for manipulating him. He’ll pay the price if he has to. Oliver holds their stares, Shado’s hopeful and Yao Fei’s shrewdly doubtful before taking a few steps closer, swallowing a little again. Oliver bows low and Yao Fei pauses, staring down at him. “ _ **I am so sorry**_ ,” Oliver whispers in Mandarin, eyes down on the dirt.

“You did what I asked,” Yao Fei returns quietly.

Oliver slowly straightens, looking back while his lips press hard together and the backs of his eyes sting. “If I’d known, I would have come back,” he says quiet and firm.

Yao Fei studies him again before nodding once, lips twitching up a little. “I know,” he returns.

Oliver takes a breath and looks to Shado, watches her hug her father again with a little laugh, wet but...happy. The sound lifts an old weight in his chest, one he’d long since gotten used to, so much so he forgot it was there until it started dissipating. His lips curl up, just a little.

He’s...happy. He’s happy Yao Fei’s alive, and he’s happy Shado got her father back.

“I hate to interrupt this weird...family reunion, but...what are we going to do about the...you know, bodies?” Roy asks after a minute, grimacing and drawing all their attentions.

“Search them for tracking devices. Toss those in the water and leave the rest to the wolves,” Slade answers. His eye drops to the sword Oliver’s still holding and he raises a brow, looking over.

Oliver’s expression sobers. “A Muramasa blade,” he quietly answers the question. Slade’s eyebrows rise with Shado’s and Yao Fei’s as they both look over.

“A true Muramasa blade?” Shado asks, half turning towards him without fully letting go of her father, one arm still wrapped tight around his back like she’s afraid he’ll disappear on the cool breeze.

Oliver looks down at the katana again, brows drawing lower together as his lips flatten. “I need to take it somewhere safe, after we leave.”

“I’m coming with you,” Slade says, drawing Oliver’s eyes back up. _His_ eyebrows rise a little and Slade levels him with a flat look. “I can’t leave you alone for four days without you fucking something up and nearly getting yourself killed,” Slade growls, “I’m coming.”

Oliver frowns at that and looks away as the guilt resurfaces, swallowing a little, but he doesn’t argue. Besides, he’s not sure he really...wants to protest Slade coming with him, they haven’t seen each other in a little while.

Oliver stills when something finally registers, now that the fighting is over for the time being and he and Slade aren’t...distracted. He looks over at the group, then to Slade. “How did you find me?” he asks.

Slade shrugs a shoulder and looks to Shado and Smoak.

“Shado and I put a tracker in the necklace she gave you,” Felicity answers, and Oliver stills, eyes widening a little as they dart over to Shado, who looks steadily back.

“I wasn’t going to let you go alone,” is all she says.

Oliver takes a moment to absorb that, looking over when Thea steps closer, offering his shirt and- the hozen back. “Maybe you could keep it on you, just in case?” she asks quietly, small and hopeful, for reasons different from everyone else’s. Oliver knows she’s afraid he’ll disappear, she’s already talked to him about it, and normally he wouldn’t- want to carry something like that on him, but, for her…

He takes another breath to try and steady himself and reaches over with his free hand, taking his shirt and the necklace, slipping the cord back over his head and feeling the unfamiliar weight of the hozen settle against his sternum. Thea smiles a little, small but still hopeful, and it’s...enough to soothe most of Oliver’s discomfort about wearing a tracker.

“Don’t worry,” Felicity says, reading the tension in his shoulders. Oliver looks over and she quirks a smile. “Only I have the signal for it, so if anyone comes knocking on your door, it’ll only be one of us. I have it set to a timer I need to check in with once a day too, so if I don’t, the signal will shut off and be lost for good. You don’t need to worry about it.”

Oliver frowns a little, brows drawing together. “You put in a safety measure for me?” he asks quietly, fingers curling a little in his shirt.

“And me,” Felicity answers, smile softening, “After what you did for all of us, I figured...well, I _didn’t_ want to risk you taking it off,” she admits, “But...I figured I’d try to...keep your identity and comfort in mind. I know it can’t be easy, someone like you wearing something like that.”

Oliver pauses, then nods a little, lips pressing together. “Thank you,” he says quieter. Smoak smiles at him before turning to Diggle, expression going a little strained. Oliver looks down at himself, the spots of blood and dirt still on him and the shirt in his hand. “I need to go wash off,” he says quietly, looking up at the others briefly before he turns and starts heading into the forest.

Thea shuffles over and nudges her elbow against Roy’s arm and they both watch Wilson stare after Oliver, silently counting. Wilson manages to last to thirty seconds before he starts walking off after her brother and Thea smirks while Roy snorts, both looking over when they feel eyes on them.

Joe stares back, raising an unimpressed brow. “Why,” is all he says, flatly.

Thea shrugs. “Told you, something to tease Ollie about that isn’t old or bloody.”

Roy shrugs too, eyebrows rising, and Joe sighs, eyes closing in silent askance before shaking his head.

Shado helps her father take a seat on one of the nearby, fallen logs and they talk quietly. Diggle looks down at Lyla again, expression pinched. Felicity glances over to him, then down at Lyla, slowly wandering over again because she just can’t seem to _help herself_.

 _Why am I such a masochist?_ she thinks, frowning at herself.

“She’s pretty,” Felicity comments quietly.

Diggle’s eyes shift over then back, and he huffs a quiet breath. “I’m sorry about all this. I didn’t think she’d go this far.”

Felicity pauses, letting out her own breath as her shoulders drop. “This must have been hard on you,” she replies quieter, “Having to...fight her.”

“It’s actually kind of familiar,” Diggle replies, dry and a little dark. He takes a breath and straightens, turning a little towards her. They look at each other for a long moment before Felicity’s eyes shift away, worrying her lower lip, lipstick bright against her teeth. “I know this is bad timing,” Diggle starts, and her eyes dart back up. Diggle smiles, small and soft. “But I was going to ask if you wanted to have dinner when we got back.”

Felicity stills, eyes widening. “We’re...on a prison island that was just filled with assassins _and_ secret government agents trying to kill us, and your ex-wife is literally laying _three feet away, unconscious,_ and you’re...asking me to dinner?” she asks.

Diggle raises an eyebrow, still smiling a little. “Are you saying no?”

Felicity stares while she tries to process, can almost see the buffer circle spinning in front of her own face before it finally finishes loading and she jolts. “But- You- Her-” she gestures between Diggle and Lyla, brows furrowing.

“ _Ex_ -wife,” Diggle stresses, smile spreading a little more.

Felicity blinks, still staring, and Diggle can’t help huffing an amused breath.

“Would you like to have dinner with me, Ms. Smoak?” he asks slower, smiling stretching that much wider when Felicity jolts again.

“I- Yes!” she finally answers, fingers curling tight around her tablet while her cheeks flood warm. “Yes, I would...like that. I’d really like that. John.” A hand pats her shoulder after a moment and Felicity jumps, whipping around to find Thea and Roy smiling, smug and almost- on the verge of laughing?

“Saved the day and got the boy,” Thea teases, smirking, “Congratulations.”

Felicity’s cheeks go warmer and she groans, dropping her face in her free hand while Joe snorts.

Diggle huffs a quiet laugh.

\--

Oliver pulls his ponytail out and sets the band on top of his shirt at the edge of the water, then wades into the cold pool with a sigh, shuddering a little. His raised body temperature helps keep the water from being as cold as it was the last time he was in it, but it’s still-

The hair on the back of his neck raises and he grabs the katana from the edge as he whips around, drawing the blade and aiming up- He jerks to a sharp stop when he registers Slade, sword pointed up at his throat where he comes to a stop at the edge. Slade smirks down at him, raising an eyebrow a little, and Oliver pulls the sword back, quickly sheathing it and ignoring the faint... _writhing_ in the glint of the reflection before it’s hidden back away in the scabbard.

“What are you doing here?” Oliver asks quietly.

“You’re not the only one who’s dirty,” Slade replies dryly, unstrapping his swords and setting them down next to the water. Oliver frowns a little, watching him in the slanting moonlight coming down through the gaps up in the trees.

“Is that the only reason?” Oliver mutters, turning to set the sword back down next to his clothes. He hears Slade huff quietly to the sound of clothing ruffling and boots coming off, turning and wading further into the water. It only comes up to his thighs here, but it gets deeper the further in he goes until it drops a few feet up closer to the stream run off.

He feels the water ripple around his legs more than hears it, then warm, calloused hands slide up the outsides of his thighs, over his hips, around to his stomach, one moving further up towards his chest while the other slides down, coming to rest above the base of his cock while Slade’s front presses warm all along his back. Oliver lets his eyes close on a quiet sigh, tilting his head back a bit and shuddering at the warmth of Slade contrasting with the cold of the water, cock responding almost out of habit. Slade’s hand slides a little lower, fingers slipping either side of the base of it before rubbing firmly and Oliver sucks in a quiet breath, head dropping back further as he reaches up and back, gripping the back of Slade’s head while it dips down, lips sucking a kiss into his shoulder, the base of his neck, teeth digging in. Oliver spreads his legs a little, hears the water slosh quietly and Slade’s hand just slides lower, around his cock and down further to cup and massage his balls. Oliver groans quietly, then Slade’s hand slides back up and wraps around his cock, slowly stroking up and Oliver’s back arches, hips rocking up into his grip.

“ _Slade_ ,” Oliver breathes, turning his head and cracking his eyes open. Slade lifts his head, turns it enough to kiss him and Oliver groans into it quietly, sucking in another breath through his nose when Slade’s other hand slides around to his back and down, fingers dipping between his cheeks to rub at his hole. He groans harder, grinding his hips back while he tries to grip at Slade’s hair, kisses going messy as the warm haze of arousal quickly fogging his thoughts gets headier. It feels like he hasn’t had Slade’s hands on him in- longer than just hours ago, or the days they were apart. It feels like _weeks_.

He can feel Slade’s cock hardening against his ass, the hard heat of it, and pulls forward, away after a moment before turning around, lifting a leg out of the water and hooking it around Slade’s waist. Slade’s arm slides around his lower back while his other hand grips at Oliver’s ass, fingers dipping between it before his hand slides down to grip under his thigh, both of them grinding their hips forward. Their cock rub together as they lean close and they both groan into each other’s mouths, tongues sliding slick and warm while Oliver grips at Slade’s shoulder, the back of his neck. Slade growls quietly into his mouth while his hips give a small jerk and Oliver grinds forward, rolls his body against Slade’s as they press together from chest to hip.

“Don’t have what I need to fuck you,” Slade rumbles between kisses, sucking at Oliver’s lower lip, dragging sharp teeth across it before searching for his tongue again, the arousal slowly building at the base of their spines. The heat of the pleasure makes the cold water easy to ignore, a background drop in the sea of- _everything else_. Even the sound of the stream trickle seems far away, as far away as the stars up above their heads in the sky.

Oliver grinds his hips forward harder, lives in the pain-pleasure friction of their cocks rubbing together, trapped between their smooth and scarred skin, of Slade’s hand gripping the underside of his thigh tight, of the arm wound around his waist, pressing against his tattoo and the top of his brand. Oliver kisses Slade harder, tilts his head a little and makes it deeper, precum slickening the slide between them. He hears the water jostle distantly, feels it lap against his thigh still in the pool. The hand on his thigh disappears and then fingers card back through his hair, grip a bunch of it up tight and pull him closer while Slade devours his mouth, tongue searching every space like he hasn’t found every hidden spot already, the tiny spaces between Oliver’s teeth, the smooth curve of the roof of his mouth, the writhing, wet slope of his tongue meeting Slade’s.

Oliver breaks the kiss after a minute, drops his head forward and bites kisses up Slade’s shoulder, the side of his neck to his ear, bites at the lobe, the curving edge and shudders at Slade’s low growl near _his_ ear, the hand that tightens in his hair and the precum that adds to his, makes the slide of their cocks smoother, gliding sticky and warm through their own messes.

“I missed you,” Oliver thinks, breathes, doesn’t mean to say it, so quiet next to Slade’s ear, and clamps his jaw shut on the confession while he grips at Slade harder, digs his fingertips into the short, shaved part of Slade’s hair and grips his shoulder hard enough to bruise. He didn’t want to make Slade feel guilty for leaving to see his son, he didn’t want to make Slade feel tied down to him, responsible for anything, but-...Oliver _did_ miss him, missed him more than he’s missed a lot of things. He missed Slade like a hole in his chest, part of him gone, as cheesy as it is to think, too far away and making him ache all over, a bruise spreading darker and darker the longer Oliver was left alone.

 _Don’t leave_ , he doesn’t say, _won’t_ say, a childish wish while he grips at Slade just a little tighter and drops his head forward, presses his mouth to Slade’s shoulder while he rocks his hips, pleasure a background to the ache in his chest as his brows draw up together, _Please don’t leave_.

Slade holds onto him tighter, the grip in his hair and the firm arm coiled around his waist, and grinds back against him, water lapping sharper against their thighs. Slade’s teeth nip and dig into his skin, suck hard kisses up the side of Oliver’s neck to the end of his jaw, then, “Me too,” Slade says quiet, almost lost in the sound of the water shifting, the stream behind him. Slade’s head pulls back and the hand in Oliver’s hair leaves, grips his jaw until Oliver lifts his head and looks back, sees the glow of his own green eyes reflecting in Slade’s like they had in the plane, inhuman, strange. He’s never seen them this way, not with this kind of intimacy. He’s seen them reflected in his target’s eyes, but there’s no fear in Slade’s, no disgust or shock or surprise, no desperation of the dying, just-... _anger_ and _steel,_ the same look from earlier.

Slade slides his hand back through the side of Oliver’s hair and kisses him hard, angry, nips at his lips almost painfully and Oliver returns it, winding an arm around Slade’s shoulders. Slade pulls his head back after a minute and looks at him again, brown eye black in the shadows and gaze weighted, heavy.

“I want to watch you,” Slade says, a low rumble against Oliver’s chest, and just like that, the heat from the pleasure and arousal floods Oliver all over again, slips from background to foreground like it never left and makes him feel warm all over, toes curling in the air and against the rocks in the water with a shudder. He tightens his leg around Slade’s waist as the pleasure climbs, high enough that he starts panting, moaning faint and quiet, cheeks warming under Slade’s focused attention. Slade never looks away from him, not once, not even as their cocks slide slicker together, both hot and hard between their stomachs with the friction, the arousal.

Oliver swallows a little, resists the urge to pull back and get his mouth on Slade’s cock, even though part of him wants to, he hasn’t in a while. Slade’s hand slides down from his hair, down the undulating curve of his back and hips and over his ass, fingers sliding down between his cheeks again and pressing, _rubbing_ , one nearly dipping inside- It sends a spark up Oliver’s spine, not the same as Slade rubbing at his prostate, but the memory is _there_ , makes the arousal sharper, more heady. Slade rubs a rough finger slow at his entrance and Oliver moans a little louder, the sound mingling with the stream, grips onto Slade tighter as his mouth drops open a little. Slade’s finger presses harder, the tip slipping inside and Oliver’s eyes finally give up, lids falling shut as his head drops back a bit, back arching into the sensation even while his hips try to chase both, the smooth slide of Slade’s cock against his and the press of Slade’s finger.

Slade growls quietly and presses harder, slips his finger inside up to the first knuckle, thrusting a little, careful of the friction and Oliver clenching around him. Oliver sucks in a sharp breath, manages to crack his hazy eyes open and find Slade’s again, still watching him as he moans, trying to keep his head from dropping forward as he bites the inside of his cheek bloody.

“ _Slade_ ,” Oliver moans.

Slade just watches him, gaze dark and hungry, growls low in his chest where Oliver can feel it against his own and the pleasure finally spikes and crests, sends him sailing and dropping off over the cliff as his eyes slam shut and he comes between them with a rough moan, clenching tight around Slade’s finger thrusting inside. Teeth nip up his jaw like Slade can’t help himself with a growl panted hot against his skin, Slade’s hips rocking harder and faster against his own, chasing Oliver’s orgasm away and Slade’s over the cliff after it. Slade’s hips jerk up sharply against his as cum hits Oliver’s stomach and just below his chest, slick and warm while Slade’s arm tightens hard around his waist, fingers digging into his skin while the rest grip his hair tight.

Oliver gets his eyes open first, but Slade’s mouth finds his before he can find Slade’s, hot, panting breaths buffeting against his own as they kiss open mouthed and messy, tongues scarcely finding one another and teeth biting at his lower lip. Slade’s hand slides from his hair again, down the side of his neck over the scar and over his collarbone, down his chest to between them, rubs and smears their cum across his skin and it turns Oliver on maybe more than it should, sends arousal shuddering up his spine again and makes his cock twitch. Slade kisses him harder and Oliver returns it, slides his hand up through Slade’s wild hair and grips what he can, searching Slade’s mouth with his tongue.

 _I want to be his_ , Oliver thinks through the haze, the warmth and aftershocks and washed out ocean in his head, the distant pleasure still fading and the new arousal lighting up his spine like sparks, _His sword, his weapon, anything. Everything_. The thought hits him, not like lightning, but subtler, quieter, enough to pull his thoughts out of the haze but not enough to make him stop his mouth.

But it’s...it’s different from how Oliver felt with Ra’s. He doesn’t want to just be Slade’s tool, he wants...He wants to give it, all of it, whatever he is to Slade, freely and willingly and not under persuasion, not under an illusion. It’s one of the most honest things he’s ever felt, a deep desire that goes right down through him: that he wants to _be_ someone’s, everything he is, whatever he is, _all of it_ , but he doesn’t know how to say that.

The kisses slow, eventually peter out and trail off and Oliver presses their foreheads together, panting quietly. He keeps his eyes closed, tries to think, tries to form words for something he doesn’t know. Even telling Slade he loved him didn’t feel quite right, like it didn’t encompass the whole thing, the angles that make up what they are together and the _depth_ of what he _feels_. Words are ugly, clunky things in comparison, inadequate and insufficient. Oliver doesn’t know how to say it, any of it.

“I want to be yours,” he tries, quiet and hushed but firm between them. He grips at Slade tighter again, squeezing his eyes shut before cracking them open and looking at Slade, Slade already watching him back. “Everything,” Oliver whispers, trying to make him understand, trying to understand it himself, “Not like Ra’s. I just _want_ …” He doesn’t know how to finish it.

Slade searches his eyes, slowly slides his fingers out from between Oliver’s cheeks and winds that arm around his waist as Oliver slowly lowers his leg back down into the water, shuddering a little at the cold.

“I don’t know,” Oliver whispers after a minute, can’t stand the silence, “I just want- I want to be _yours._ ”

 _Keep me_ , he thinks, sharp and sudden with a desperate ache in his chest, hard enough to swallow him whole, _Please_ \- He doesn’t want to be used, not like Ra’s used him, not like Sara or Nyssa or Malcolm. He wants-

“I know I fuck up,” Oliver whispers, backs of his eyes stinging. He swallows. “I _know_ , but I _want_ -” Slade kisses him hard, cutting him off, and Oliver’s eyes slam shut, leaning into it with the desperation in his chest. Slade holds him tighter, sliding his tongue past Oliver’s lips and against his own tongue before sucking on it, then releasing it and changing the angle to kiss him harder, deep and thorough.

 _I don’t want to get married_ , Oliver thinks distantly, trying to figure it out, he doesn’t want what his parents wanted: a house and kids and simplicity. He doesn’t... _want any_ of that with Slade, it doesn’t fit right, doesn’t feel right. He just wants-

“I just want to be yours,” Oliver begs between kisses, louder, desperate, _pleading_ , not a trained assassin, not the dumb kid he used to be, just- He finally knows _where_ he wants to be and _who_ he wants to be with, where-

 _Home is_.

Oliver stills as the thought hits him and Slade pulls back, the two of them looking at each other. Oliver slowly reaches up and grips Slade’s cheek, slides his thumb over the rougher skin and stubble as he thinks it over.

 _That’s it. That’s what it is_.

“You’re... _home_ for me,” Oliver whispers, still staring as the realization slowly sinks in. Slade’s eyes widen a little, grip gradually tightening on him to almost painfully and then Slade reaches up to hold his jaw again, brows lowering.

“I can’t give you-” Slade starts.

“I don’t want it,” Oliver breathes, cutting him off, shakes his head a little, “I don’t want a house, or any of it, I just want-” He swallows. “I just want _you_.”

“You’re mine,” Slade confirms, quiet, not firm, not sharp, not a growl or shout, just...sure, like it’s truth, a fact, nothing more, nothing less; it just is. “I already told you,” Slade adds after a moment, holding his stare while Oliver’s heart beats hard and wild in his chest; Oliver swallows, “You have me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Oliver holds onto him tighter and then quickly leans forward, kissing Slade hard. Slade returns it just the same, pulling them close together like he’s trying to break past their skin. Oliver curls around him as much as he can, holds onto Slade and tries to-

He just wants to keep feeling _this_ , this warmth, this feeling of-...of finally being where he feels like he _belongs_ , where he _**wants** to be_ , of feeling _home_. It’s different from being in Starling City with his sister and mother, from being in Nanda Parbat with the League, from being here on Lian Yu. Those are all pieces, none of it quite making up a whole, but-

But being with Slade makes him feel the most whole he’s felt in a long time, not _complete_ , but it doesn’t leave him yearning for something, feeling like his skin doesn’t fit right and he’s standing out of place. Slade makes him feel like he can just... _be_ , exist in these moments with him as himself, whatever that is. Oliver doesn’t want walls or a family or some...white picket fence and a dog. Part of him will always want violence, the satisfaction of feeling his sword hitting its mark and sinking into flesh and blood and bone, and he _wants_ that, the violence, and the quiet, the feeling of Slade’s skin warm against his, of Slade’s mouth on his own, of Slade’s breaths and voice nearly close enough to touch. He wants-

 

“ _You make me **want** to live, not just survive_.”

 

Oliver stills, pulling back just enough to look at him, at Slade’s dark and light mismatched eyes, blind and seeing, empty and heavy. “I want to live,” Oliver whispers, chest squeezing tight with the ache he felt from earlier in the plane as his eyes sting, Slade’s eye searching his, “I want to live, with you.”

Slade grips him tighter again and drags him forward by his jaw, kissing him hard and firm. “Then we’ll live,” Slade whispers between them. Oliver squeezes his eyes shut and kisses him back, digs his blunt nails into Slade’s skin and tries to breathe past his closing throat.

 _I want to_ , he thinks desperately, gripping at Slade tight.

 _He never wants to let go again_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU TATCH FOR HELPING ME SAVE YAO FEI. Bc I realized I accidentally killed him a while ago and nO.


	39. I promise

“Why are you taking me all the way up here?” Thea asks from behind him as they trek up the slope, sticking close along the path he leads in the dark.

“I want to show you something before we leave-” Oliver stops when he sees them, more than were here last time. The grave for Yao Fei is still on the farthermost left, followed by his father’s next to it on the right, but then there’s one for him and Shado and even Sara to the right of that, no rocks over where their bodies would be, but ones propping up the drift wood with their names carved into them.

 _Slade must have done it, after..._ Oliver thinks, lips pressing hard together.

He hears and sees Thea stop sharply at his right while she sucks in a breath. “Ollie, is that…?” she trails off quietly.

Oliver takes a breath and makes himself answer, “Dad.” He can still feel the wood in his hands, the blade resisting in his grip as he’d determinedly carved his father’s name into it, a piece that was drifting down near where he’d washed up, the best he could find, one long enough to fit his father’s whole name.

Oliver looks over and reaches down after a minute-...slowly taking Thea’s hand and giving it a small squeeze, careful of her bandages. She jolts, eyes darting up to his, then squeezes his hand back as her gaze drops down to the grave again, then shifts to the others.

“Wilson?” she asks quietly, finding Oliver’s name, then Shado’s and Sara’s.

Oliver takes another breath, looking back to them. “Yes,” he answers, because it couldn’t have been anyone else.

Thea worries her lower lip while Oliver debates telling her the rest, that their father lived long enough to die for him. He hasn’t told anyone, save Slade and Shado. He’s not sure he should tell his sister, or his mother. It’s probably bad enough that he’s showing Thea where their father is buried, but it feels...wrong not to while they’re both here.

“He made it off the boat?” Thea asks quietly, eyes darting up to him again.

Oliver debates for another moment before coming to a decision. He doesn’t want to lie to her. “Yes,” he answers slowly, dragging his eyes from the grave to look back down at her, “But only for a few days.”

Thea searches his eyes, seems to debate with herselffor a minute before swallowing and tightening her jaw, brows drawing lower in a decisive line. “What happened?” she asks.

Oliver watches her for a moment before steeling himself too. “There wasn’t enough food or water,” he answers quieter, has to look away, back at the graves, “He shot the captain that made it with us and then himself.”

Thea sucks in a sharper breath and Oliver looks back over, watches her drag her eyes from him to the grave, other hand over her mouth. She grips his tighter. Oliver can just barely see her eyes shining in the dark, if not the red probably starting to surround them, her brows drawn sharply up together. She leans closer, until her shoulder finds his arm, stays that way for a few moments before she turns and hugs him tight, pressing her face against his shoulder. Oliver gently winds his arms around her and hugs her back, holding her while she shakes and looking over at the graves again.

He keeps the notebook, at least, to himself. He left it with his weapons in the second base, more for Smoak and Diggle than any of the others, but he doesn’t...want Thea involved with it. He doesn’t want their father’s truth weighing her down any more than it already is.

They stay like that for a while, then eventually Thea pulls away a little with a quiet sniff, rubbing at her eyes with the backs of her fingers. She’s quite for a minute while she looks at the graves, then shifts her eyes back up to him. “Are you going to tell mom?” she asks quieter, voice a little hoarse.

Oliver pauses, then takes a breath, looking over at their father’s grave. “I don’t know,” he answers quietly. If it were Slade, he’d want to know, but his mother’s already standing on her last leg with the guilt she feels for the Glades, of having to deal with Malcolm for the last five years. He doesn’t...want to add to that, and he doesn’t know if telling her right now will help or make things worse.

Thea looks back over at the graves for another minute, reaching for his hand again and holding it. It’s quiet for another while until Thea says, quietly, “Do you remember when I wanted a cat? And mom refused, so dad took us to the zoo instead?”

Oliver looks over, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. He sees Thea’s lips twitch up but it’s sad, melancholy like the look in her eyes. “Yes,” Oliver answers, keeping his voice low, soft, almost.

“I said I wanted a tiger,” Thea continues, the smile finally reaching her wet voice, “He took me to the zoo every day for a week, making up stories about where they came from, why they had to be safe in the zoo and not kept at home, that we ‘ _didn’t have enough hippos to feed them_ ’.” She huffs a quiet, amused sound and leans her shoulder against his arm again. Oliver leans a little closer, letting Thea lace their fingers together. He drags his eyes back to the grave one more time, reading over his father’s name. 

Khaki and blue shift in his periphery, but Oliver ignores it. It’s just a ghost. The real thing is long gone, dead and buried. All they really have are memories and each other, now.

\--

They head back to the group after a little while, put the League torches out and then find the plane Lyla came in on and leave her inside it, Oliver stabbing a knife into the floor so she can cut her bindings when she wakes. He has to put her to sleep again before they leave, but it at least gives them a few more hours to try and get back to the city. The sun will be up then too; Lyla should be fine.

Oliver boards the smaller plane everyone came in on after Slade, taking the seat behind his up by the cockpit while Thea takes the one to his right, followed by Shado and Yao Fei. Oliver takes note of Yao Fei’s limp, lips pressing together while he tries to figure out what to do about it. They can find a doctor to get the bullet out, if it should come out at all. He’ll need to talk to Thea more about it since he can’t pay for any of it, but he’s pretty sure she’ll help, if he asks. He’ll need to call Sara too, to try and get a new identity for Yao Fei so he can finally go home.

Felicity takes a seat on the other side of the plane, opposite Shado, Diggle and Harper forming a row next to her while Joe heads up into the cockpit after his father with a glare over at Oliver. Oliver’s grip tightens a little on the Muramasa sword and he looks forward, lips pressing together. 

He knows he fucked up, and Joe knows that he knows. Oliver almost died trying to save them all, but that doesn’t matter when Slade would have paid a price too. Joe’s like Slade in that way: the reason doesn’t matter for someone he cares about getting hurt, just that they did. Regardless of what Oliver’s actions got them, he’s on thin ice.

The plane engines start up after another minute and everyone straps themselves in, and then it starts moving, reversing back across the water before turning and speeding out towards the ocean, gradually lifting into the air. It’s a little bumpy, but soon enough it evens out, and it’d almost be like riding in a car if the engines weren’t so loud beyond the steel walls.

Oliver turns his head and glances back into the cockpit, sees Slade and Joe’s eyes aimed forward, Slade’s grip firm on the steering console. 

_He flew a plane back to Lian Yu to find me_ , Oliver thinks, grip tightening on the sword again briefly. 

He drags his eyes forward again and closes them.

The ride is quiet, outside of the engines. Thea leans her head and shoulder against his at some point and Oliver looks over, finds her eyes closed. No one talks, everyone quiet and exhausted. 

After about an hour, Felicity’s tablet pings and she jerks awake from where she’s been dozing, pulling it out of her coat pocket and turning it on. Her eyes go wide when she reads whatever notification she got.

“There was an explosion in Central City!” she relays, yelling over the engines, and everyone stirs from their own dozes, eyes darting over. Felicity’s brows draw together. “The particle accelerator exploded!” Her eyes shift up to the others and then over to Diggle, expression tight with worry. “My friend worked there!” She drops her gaze back to her tablet and quickly starts tapping at it. “I’m going to try to check the hospital databases!”

\-----

Lance’s cellphone rings and he digs it out of his pocket, frowning at the unfamiliar number on the screen. He hits ‘answer’ and raises it to his ear. “Detective Lance,” he says.

“ _Mr. Lance. I’m calling from Central General Hospital in Central City. You’re listed as a Ms. Laurel Lance’s emergency contact. Is that correct?_ ” a woman says on the other end while Lance freezes, staring across his living room. “ _Mr. Lance?_ ”

“ _Yes_ ,” he answers, jerking out of his thoughts as he stumbles to his feet, “My daughter, _is she alright?_ ” he forces out, heart pounding in his ears so loud he almost doesn’t hear the answer:

“ _She’s fine, just some bruising and a concussion_ ,” the woman says, “ _She hit her head pretty hard. I’ve also notified a Ms. Drake of her situation since she was also listed as an emergency contact. She told me she’ll be here shortly_.”

“You-” Lance’s breath catches, “ _Shit_.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” the woman asks sharper.

“Sorry, not you. Just- That’s my ex-wife. I’m leaving my apartment and driving over right now,” he says quickly, scraping his keys up off of his coffee table and hanging up before the woman can tell him anything else. 

He stops and stares down at the search results in his laptop, the scribbled notes in his notebook, and the nearly empty bottle of scotch for a long minute before taking a breath and reaching over, pushing the laptop closed and digging his wallet out.

“Okay, bullet train,” he mutters, running for the door and slamming it shut behind him.

\-----

Laurel’s eyelids flutter, then-

She sucks in a breath as her eyes fly open, jerking up-

“Laurel, _Laurel!_ Honey, calm down. Take a breath. You’re fine. You’re in Central General Hospital,” a familiar voice says as a hand tries to nudge her shoulder back down-

Laurel’s eyes dart around the white room, landing on-

“ _Mom?_ ” she lets out, staring.

Her mother’s leaning forward in a chair next to- the hospital bed, in a deep blue dress with a gold necklace, bright against her tan skin, hair still a rose-gold and blue eyes warm, _worried_ -

Laurel drags her gaze away, looking around the room again, at the beeping machines up to her left and the closed blinds covering the wide window to her right. The sun’s starting to come up, enough to light the room while the blinds struggle to keep it dim. “Where-” Laurel starts, raising the hand that isn’t hooked to a machine to her gradually pounding head.

“You’re at Central General Hospital,” her mother repeats slower, giving up nudging and resting a hand on Laurel’s arm instead. Laurel closes her eyes against the ache in her head and lays back down, taking a steadying breath, can feel bruises starting to make themselves known almost _all over_. “Do you remember what happened?” her mother asks gently.

“I-...” Laurel trails off, brows furrowing while she tries to remember, “I was at...some conference, near the-” _The particle accelerator_ , she realizes, getting her eyes back open. She was across the street from it talking with some other people on the allegations case, when- “There was a loud...flash?” she continues hesitantly. 

It wasn’t like a bomb going off, but more like...something she’d seen in a movie, bright, bursting colors and particles everywhere, the sound delayed until after the light had already reached everyone’s eyes, terrible and blinding, flying out from the center of Star Labs, orange and gold and- strangely beautiful, before it knocked the lights off and her back and out. 

“Is everyone alright?” she asks urgently, eyes snapping over as she tries to sit up again. Her mother pushes her back down this time and it’s- surreal, seeing her here, up this close. Laurel hasn’t seen her since-

“There were some casualties from the damage caused by the explosion,” her mother starts gravely, brows drawn together in a worried line, “They’re still looking into it. I’m just glad _you’re_ alright.”

Laurel drags her eyes away, taking another steadying breath and letting the quiet settle for a minute with the information, trying to let it all sink in. She can’t do anything from her hospital bed, and her head’s pounding too much to think about everything right now, but- She’ll need to go back to Starling after she gets out, will need to-... _god. Who died?_ she thinks, lips pinching, _How many?_ She drags her eyes over after another few minutes and her...mother still hasn’t left, is still watching her worriedly. 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Laurel says firmly, dragging her gaze away again, “You can...go. You don’t have to stay.”

“ _Laurel_ ,” her mother says, tone heavy. A hand rests on her arm again and Laurel curls away, shifting further to the other edge of the bed, childish, but she can’t help it. Her mother’s hand retreats and Laurel hears her take a breath. “I know...I haven’t been there for you and your father, wasn’t for long after...Sara,” her mother continues quieter, and Laurel’s brows draw together, shoulders tensing and making her headache worse, “...I’m sorry. I _should_ have been there. I just- I can’t _not_ worry about you.”

“Where was that concern when you _left?_ ” Laurel replies firmly, turning her head to glare back. Her mother stills, mouth dropping open a fraction. It closes, lips pressing firmly together.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” her mother repeats even quieter, slow and earnest, eyes dropping, “I _couldn’t_ -...” She closes her eyes, shaking her head as she sits back in the chair, hand coming up to press against the side of her forehead and eyes squeezing shut. “Losing Sara...it…” she trails off again, shaking her head a second time. She opens her eyes and looks at Laurel, and Laurel swallows, lips twisting down, still so- _angry_ , but...god, it hurts, seeing her mother at all.

Her mother lowers her hand, fingers twisting anxiously in her lap, skin bright against the deep blue of her dress.

“I’m _**sorry**_ , Laurel,” her mother says, so open and sincere it makes the ache in Laurel’s chest worse, “I didn’t...handle it. I _couldn’t_.” Her mother shakes her head, eyes closing firmly, briefly before opening and looking at her again. “I think I would have reacted the same if it-...if it was you I lost. And I almost _did_ lose you last night. I can’t- I can’t go through that again, not a second time. I won’t survive it.”

Laurel’s lips press hard together as the backs of her eyes sting. She drags her gaze away to the blind covered windows, has to squeeze her eyes shut when tears start building. She pulls in a more ragged breath, jaw tightening against the strain in her chest, her throat. Her mother doesn’t reach for her again, thankfully, but she doesn’t leave either, and Laurel’s not sure how to feel about that, not yet.

She goes back to staring at the blinds, has to close her eyes eventually against the glow getting brighter and brighter through the cracks and seams while her headache roller coasters, gets worse, ebbs out, almost goes away completely before rising back up again with her heart pounding in her chest.

After a while, she’s not sure how long, her breathing and heart rate gradually slow back down and the pressure in her chest eases enough that the left over exhaustion can sweep her up and carry her off into a doze in the quiet, the distant sirens muffled beyond the walls and window. 

\--

The next time Laurel wakes, it’s to her room door bursting open, making her jolt awake. Her head snaps over as her eyes go wide and she quickly sits up, trying to drag herself out of the drowsiness when she sees who it is. “ _Dad?_ ” she lets out.

“Laurel!” he returns, jerking to a sharp stop when he sees her mother sitting in the chair. “Dinah,” he adds a little harder, brows lowering and drawing together, expression tense, conflicted.

“Quentin,” Dinah returns, similar, if more reserved. She looks back to Laurel and smiles a little, lips twisting down sadly. She gets up out of her chair and Laurel’s hand snaps out before she can stop it, gripping her mother’s tight. Dinah freezes, wide eyes darting back.

“...Don’t go this time,” Laurel begs quietly, brows drawing up together, “Please.”

Her mother stays still for a minute before slowly sitting back down, covering Laurel’s hand with her own. “I’ll just be outside, use the restroom, get us all some coffee. Okay?” her mother asks gentler, quieter.

Laurel nods and slowly makes herself let go. Her mother rubs her hand over her own one more time before standing again and heading for the door, eyes meeting Quentin’s on the way. She pauses briefly before she heads out of the room, both of them watching her close the door quietly behind herself.

Lance stares at it for a long moment before turning his attention back to his daughter, rushing over. “Are you okay?” he asks quickly, sitting down on the edge of the bed and taking the same hand Laurel’s mother had. 

Laurel smiles a little shakily, nodding. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she answers, “Headache’s all but gone now. Just a little sore.” The bruises will probably stay for a week, but...she got lucky, compared to other people. Her heart squeezes in her chest at the thought, but she tries to force it aside for later. She can’t do anything about it yet, not right now.

Lance blows out a breath, sitting forward and pressing a firm kiss to her forehead before sitting back again, holding her hand tight. “I’m _glad_ ,” he breathes, then adds after a moment, “Central City was supposed to be _safe_.”

“Dad,” Laurel sighs, and Lance grunts quietly, looking down at her hand and easing up his death grip.

They’re both quiet for a few minutes. Laurel’s eyes wander back to the room door and Lance caches it, huffing a quiet breath. “So. She’s here,” he says quietly.

Laurel lets out a sigh. “Yeah,” she returns, worrying the inside of her lower lip, “You think she’ll stay?” She looks up at her father and he looks a little helplessly back, gaze shifting over to the door again.

“I don’t know,” he answers, rubbing his worn thumb over Laurel’s smooth knuckles, “Maybe we’ll see.”

Laurel looks back to the door, lips pressing together.

\-----

“Thank you, for doing this,” Oliver says quietly, almost a whisper where he’s hidden around the doorframe around the corner, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets and hood up with the Muramasa sword hidden in long canister on his back, disguised as art or a baseball bat instead of a cursed blade.

“He helped you, right?” Thea asks quietly without looking back, blocking what little of him might be visible from view, the edges of her hair catching and shining in the bright, hospital hallway lights. 

They both watch Yao Fei through the window in the door across the hall, sitting on an exam table free of the rags Fyers originally put him in with Shado hovering at his side, holding his hand. The doctor steps close, slow and gentle, not wary, but cautious, always checking in with him first before doing anything.

Oliver takes a slow breath. “Yes,” he answers.

The halls are quiet for the most part, set far away from the emergency rooms as they are and with the early morning hour. Thea’s paying to help keep the doctor quiet about Yao Fei being here at all, but the woman, Doctor Mors, seemed inclined to help anyway. Still, they’re giving her something for her troubles, and her discretion.

“Then it was an easy thing to do,” Thea says, drawing Oliver’s attention back. She glances over her shoulder at him briefly with a little smile before looking ahead again, trying not to draw attention to him. “Besides, he looks like he’s been through hell, and from what little I overheard, it sounds like he never should’ve been on that island at all.”

“He shouldn’t have,” Oliver agrees, looking into the room again.

They’re quiet for a minute, just watching, listening.

“I’m surprised Wilson let you out of his sight,” Thea teases a little, and Oliver frowns over at the back of her head. “Then again, Joe’s as stubborn as he is. Maybe I shouldn’t be.” Oliver frowns a little more and she finally looks back at him, small smile curving up further with a little shrug. “He’s growing on me.”

Oliver holds in a sigh at that, looking back up into the room.

Yao Fei’s been quiet since they found him. Oliver had caught his gaze drifting sometimes on the way over here, but mostly he’s just been...quiet, observant. He spent nearly the whole past five years alone, for the most part. That can’t have been easy on him, even with his fortitude and acceptance of his situation.

Thea’s lips purse after a moment, eyes shifting to the canister over Oliver’s shoulder. “You really think that sword’s cursed?” she asks.

“It is,” Oliver answers, leaning his shoulder against the steel door frame.

“But I thought curses weren’t real?” Thea asks, eyebrows rising, “How do you even know about it?”

Oliver’s jaw tightens a little with the ache in his chest. “Ra’s,” he answers quieter. Thea’s lips flatten and she drags her eyes away. “He showed and taught me a lot,” Oliver adds.

Thea’s quiet for a beat and then she says, low and hard, “You sound like you miss him.”

Oliver pauses, then takes a breath. “I respected him,” he says a little softer, “He was a great teacher.”

“He nearly killed you,” Thea says sharper with a look back at him, glancing around as she lowers her voice again, “He _would_ have.”

“I know,” Oliver returns, looking from the back of her head up to the room again, “But he wasn’t an evil person.” Thea’s quiet at that and Oliver looks back to her, brows drawing together a little. “Do you think I’m evil?” he asks quieter.

Thea’s eyes dart over to him, studying him for a moment before she shakes her head. “No,” she answers.

“Even though I kill people?” Oliver asks.

Thea pauses before shaking her head again. “No,” she repeats quieter, “But you’ve only killed _bad_ people. I still don’t agree with it, but you haven’t been-” she huffs a breath, “Going around killing innocent bystanders.”

“I have,” Oliver says, and Thea stills, eyes widening a little. “Not on purpose, but some of my actions have gotten people killed,” he clarifies, looking up at the room again, “Ra’s was the same. Everything he did, even down to using me, was to try and further his goal of saving the world from humanity. The pollution, the endless wars, the fighting.” Oliver’s fingers curl and he takes a breath, heart beating harder with it. He still believes in that mission, even if he can’t participate in aiding it like he used to. “Being with the League, I’ve seen...a lot of the worst in people, _Ra’s_ hadseenso much; he wanted to stop it before it was too late.”

Thea’s quiet for a minute, absorbing that, then, “By killing innocent people?”

Oliver takes another breath, shaking his head a fraction and making himself look back. “It’s war, Thea, _against_ war. We- The League never sought to hurt innocent people, they still don’t, Nyssa wouldn’t, but sometimes our actions cause chains of events, like mine and Slade’s did with A.R.G.U.S. All of you got caught up in it. Sometimes it’s unavoidable.”

Thea’s lips press together as she looks away.

Oliver gives her a few moments, studying her before adding, “If you’re going to keep training with Joe and if you end up helping Harper, you need to know that.” Thea looks back at him again, brows furrowed low. “Everything you do,” Oliver says softer, jaw tightening briefly before he finishes, “ _Everything_ has a consequence. You need to be aware of that when you decide what you’re going to do. Don’t be like me. Be _better_ than I was.”

Thea’s brows draw up a little at that while her fingers curl at her sides, turning towards him like she’s going to hug him before she catches herself and turns back. Oliver drags his eyes up, away from hers to try and focus on something else, slow his heartbeat back down.

He’s still living with the consequences of what he chose, of what _Malcolm_ chose. He can never be ‘alive’ again in the eyes of the world, he can never have the life he once did, even if he wanted it. He’s enhanced, could crush just about anything he grabbed, and he still sees ghosts, dead and living. They’ve been mostly quiet, but he doesn’t think they’ll ever truly go away until he’s dead, and even then, they still might not.

“You’re not going to tell me not to fight?” Thea asks quietly after a minute, breaking him out of his thoughts.

Oliver looks back to her. She takes a moment before looking back at him. “I’ll _never_ want you to get hurt,” he answers, low and firm, “But I can’t keep you in a glass cage, and I don’t have the right to. You have to make your own choices, even if I don’t like them. That’s...living, isn’t it?” he asks quieter.

Thea looks at him for a long moment and then finally does turn, stepping close. Oliver wraps his arms around her just as she wraps hers around him, keeping his ears open for anyone who might pass by. Thea squeezes him tighter. “I know you’re not dad,” she starts softly, almost a whisper, “But I also know you helped raise me. I don’t know if he’d say the same thing to me, but... _Thank you_.”

Oliver’s throat goes tight and he reaches up, gently cradles the back of her head in a hand that could crush steel and closes his eyes, feels-...too warm, and proud at the same time. He wasn’t there for five years, she grew a lot without him, but he was there from the day she was born to fourteen, and he did what he could when their parents wouldn’t, or couldn’t. She’s right, he’s not her father, but in some ways, he feels like he is. He never really stopped to think about it growing up, just wanted to help her be the best person she could be, and he wanted her to be happy.

“For every terrible thing I’ve done,” Oliver starts a little hoarsely, heart squeezing hard in his chest, “You turned out-...” He swallows, closing his eyes against the sting. “You’re _good_ , Speedy.”

Thea squeezes him tighter, even though it still has to hurt her, and he hears her sniff quietly against his shoulder. “You’re not _terrible_ ,” she says wetly, pulling back after a minute and wiping at her eyes with a hand, looking up at him. “You’re _not_ ,” she says, firm and sure.

Oliver swallows again at that, lips pressing hard together. “I’m trying,” he returns quieter.

Thea smiles a little, just a little, but it’s enough to lift most of the weight off his chest, always has been. “That’s all we can do, right?” she asks, reaching up- She gently tugs at his dangling bangs beneath his hood and Oliver huffs quietly, shifting his head away. She gives her own breathy little laugh, smiling through her red rimmed eyes. “Will you be okay?” she asks after a minute, and that catches his attention, making him look back. Thea’s still smiling up at him, but it turns sad while her brows draw up together. “You’re leaving with Wilson soon, aren’t you,” she says quieter, more somber, not really a question.

“I’ll come back,” Oliver answers anyway, reaching up to gently tug at some of her hair, making her duck her head sideways and away. His lips twitch. “You can call me anytime. If you ask me to come back, for whatever reason, even if it’s just because you miss me, no matter where I am or what I’m doing, I’ll come.”

Thea’s lips press harder together, trying to hide the trembling of her lower one as the tears well again. She holds her hand up with her pinky out and Oliver reaches up, locking his with hers.

“I promise,” he whispers, heart squeezing in his chest again. He can keep this promise. He _will_ keep this promise.

Thea takes a breath and wipes at her eyes after they let go, giving him a firm nod. “You better,” she says quietly, and Oliver smiles a little, enough to make her smile back.

The door across the room opens and they both look up, Thea turning to block Oliver from view again. They watch the doctor head down the hall and then Shado say something quietly to Yao Fei before slipping out of the room and across the hall to them.

“How is he?” Oliver asks once she’s close enough.

Shado takes a breath, shoulders dropping. “Good, for the most part,” she answers, relieved. She looks back into the room. “She gave him about ten antibiotic shots that he insisted on getting all at once and looked him over.” Shado looks back to them, the small smile on her face fading. “He’s malnourished, which is to be expected, but she checked the bullet wound and said it would be best if it stayed where it is.” She looks back into the room again like she can’t help it. “He will never move like he used to,” she adds quieter, brows lowering, “But he’s not defenseless.”

They’re quiet for a few moments, soaking that in, then Thea asks quietly, “Are you two going back home to China?”

Shado looks back to the two of them and nods. “Yes, as soon as the League is finished with his I.D. I haven’t told my sister yet, but she needs to see him, and he needs to see her. I think it will help him, too. He’s been alone for too long.”

Oliver’s lips press together at that. “I’ll go with you,” he says, drawing Thea and Shado’s gazes, “I need to go to Japan. I can take a connecting flight in Hong Kong.”

“You can use our private jet,” Thea suggests, drawing their attentions to her. She looks between them and shrugs. “It’s private. If one of you knows how to fly, you could even fly it yourselves and someone from the company can pick it up when you’re done.”

Oliver pauses, frowning a little in thought. That’s not a bad idea. It would save them all from having to risk more exposure and keep Yao Fei from getting overwhelmed by a crowd.

“Is Slade coming?” Shado asks, drawing Oliver out of his thoughts.

He shrugs a little, shoving his hands deep into his hoodie pockets. “He says he is.” Slade said on the island that they would live, together, but...there’s still Joe to think about, and Oliver still doesn’t want to be the reason they separate.

Shado nods and Oliver looks away.

“We’re ready to leave here,” she says after a few moments, drawing Oliver’s attention back, “Whenever you two are.”

“Where are we going?” Thea asks.

“The base, for now,” Shado decides, lips pursing in thought. “Do you know when the League will be finished?” she asks, looking back to Oliver.

He shakes his head a little. “I’m waiting for Sara to call and confirm,” he answers, “I’ll know when she does, but it shouldn’t take more than a few days. Slade can help get you a hotel room, if you need it.”

“I’ll talk with Felicity,” Shado says, frowning a little, “I don’t want to impose any further than I have.”

Oliver nods, looking over to Thea. She looks back, brows drawing together a little and lips pinching in an unhappy line. She makes herself take a breath and nod once before turning and heading for the stairs at the darker end of the hall below the glowing, green exit sign. Oliver pushes himself up from the doorframe and waits for Shado to get Yao Fei, taking up and guarding the rear as they make their way down the stairs. He catches Yao Fei’s shoulders relaxing a fraction when he does, and it...makes something in Oliver’s chest both wind tighter and loosen.

\-----

“So, you’re leaving again,” Joe states, can tell just by the way his father’s standing and the look on his face.

Slade sighs quietly, looking out Joe’s hotel room window. The sun’s up, but it’s still early. “Oliver’s going to Japan.”

“And can’t stay alive on his own for five minutes,” Joe mutters darkly. 

Slade’s fingers curl but he doesn’t say anything, looking back. 

Joe frowns and looks away almost guiltily, his own fingers curling. He looks out the window too, sighing quietly. “I’m not surprised,” he says.

Slade’s heart gives a kick in his chest and then squeezes with the guilt, but he keeps quiet.

“What about A.S.I.S.?” Joe asks after a few moments, dragging his eyes back.

“I’m resigning,” Slade answers, can answer that. It was easier to make the decision after what happened with Ra’s on the island. Oliver’s still considered a gold mine of information on the League, too, even if he is no longer part of it. A.S.I.S. will want to get their hands on him if they find out who he is. It’s best to cut those ties.

Joe looks back out the window again, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I might, too,” he says quietly, making Slade pause. Joe glances back then out the window again, shrugging. “I think I want to stay here a little longer.” He can try putting in some vacation time first before he really decides, since right now he’s technically here on A.S.I.S.’s order to get his father. He has time to figure it out.

It’s quiet for a minute, neither one really looking at the other.

Slade eventually sighs quietly, breaking it and drawing Joe’s attention back over. “Your mother made me promise to keep you out of the worst of it,” he says, looking out the window.

Joe stills, then huffs a quiet breath. “Think you failed.”

Slade snorts quietly, cynically.

Joe’s lips press together as the amusement fades, watching his father in the morning light. “Will I see you again?” he asks quieter, fingers curling tighter in his pockets.

His father looks back, studying him a moment before nodding once. “If that’s what you want,” he answers.

“...I do,” Joe says against the pressure in his chest, lips pressing harder together. They watch each other for a few moments and then Joe finally kicks himself and makes himself _move_ , crossing the distance and hugging him. His father goes still and then slowly returns it, arms tightening around him. “This isn’t goodbye,” Joe says firmly, eyes on the wall over his father’s shoulder and brows drawn low together, “Promise.” Because his father always keeps his promises, always. Through all his faults, that’s one of the few constant things about him.

Slade squeezes Joe tighter, chin hooked over his shoulder. “I promise,” he says firmly, quietly, Joe squeezing him tightly back. 

They let go after a minute and step away. Joe clears his throat quietly, glancing around the room a little awkwardly. 

“I’m going to get some sleep,” he says after a minute, glancing over.

“We’re not leaving right away,” Slade says.

Joe pauses and then nods, the two of them watching each other again before his father moves for the hotel door, pulling it open. He slips out with one more glance back at him and Joe only lets out the breath he’s holding once the door is shut, closing his eyes. He rubs a hand over his face and then snorts quietly to himself, pressing his hand over his eyes. They sting a little, his throat a little tight, but weirdly enough, he can feel himself smiling.

\-----

“I still think you should stay here for a couple days,” Dinah says, brows drawn together with the same worried frown she’s had on since this morning.

“Mom, I’m fine,” Laurel replies, pulling her phone out of her purse perched on the hospital bed and checking the ten new messages and seven voicemails on it, most of them from Tommy. She sends a text back telling him she’s fine and to stay put when she catches mention of him coming to Central City and then pockets it, ignoring the vibration against her thigh. She needs to deal with this first. 

“Look,” Laurel starts, pulling her coat on and turning to her mother. Her dad left a little earlier to get some food, but the real reason was to probably try and give them a chance to talk alone. “I need to report to my office, and I feel fine, outside of the bruises, but those should go away in about a week. We can…” she trails off, lips pinching. She takes a breath and grabs her bag, stepping closer. Her mother reaches for her, hesitant, and Laurel lets her take her hand, squeezing her mother’s back. “I _promise_ I’m fine, but maybe later we could...try and have lunch? Or dinner? _Talk?_ ” Laurel asks, trying to ignore the hope budding in her chest. It’s dangerous. “I’ll come back to Central City, or...you could come to Starling?”

Her mother takes a breath, looking away at the mention of Starling, then takes another and squares her shoulders, forcing her eyes back. “Okay,” she says uncertainly, “But are you _sure_ you’re okay? I just- I worry.”

“You have my number,” Laurel returns softer.

“Will you pick up if I call?” Dinah asks, brows drawing up a little.

Laurel pauses, then takes a breath and looks down, thinking. She nods after a moment, shifting her eyes back up. “I promise I’ll answer.” Her mother squeezes her hand tighter and then shifts forward like she’s going to hug her before stopping herself, looking away self consciously. Laurel takes one more breath and then- takes the first step, or maybe it’s the second, or third, and wraps her arms around her mother for the first time in five years. Her mother stills before her arms come up, hugging her tightly back.

“I _missed_ you, sweetheart,” her mother says quiet near her ear, “I know I left and I know the distance was my fault, but I _swear_ , I missed you _every single day._ ”

Laurel hugs her mother tighter, squeezing her eyes shut where she can’t see. “I missed you too,” she confesses, almost a whisper. It hides the broken glass in her voice, at least. Laurel makes herself pull back after one more minute and they look at each other, neither quite letting go. They only do when the room door opens behind her mother, Lance pausing as his eyes catch on them.

“Are you ready to go?” he asks after a beat, focusing on Laurel first.

Laurel looks over at her mother for a long moment before shifting her eyes back to her father, nodding. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“I need to talk with your mom for a minute. Wait for me in the lobby?” he asks.

“Sure,” Laurel replies, smiling a little. She smiles at her mother too as she passes, smaller, but real, quietly closing the door behind her.

Lance waits a minute, trying to build up the nerve to say what he needs to, trying to figure out _how_ to say it, and trying to make sure Laurel’s out of earshot. He wants to run this by Dinah first, _needs_ to.

“Quentin?” Dinah asks, jolting him out of his thoughts.

“I...I have something I need to tell you,” he starts, means to continue but can’t get his tongue unstuck. He drags a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut.

“...What is it?” Dinah asks after a few moments, brows furrowed when he looks over.

Lance swallows. “I have it on good authority that...Sara, _our_ Sara, is-” He takes a breath. “She’s _alive_.”

Dinah stares at him, eyes a little wide. “What...?” she finally manages to get out, then, “ _Who?_ And _how?_ ” more urgently, stepping close and gripping his arm tight, “Quentin, _who told you that?_ ”

Lance shakes his head, jaw tightening. “Doesn’t matter,” he answers, “I- I believe him,” he finishes helplessly, “I _believe_ him, Dinah.”

Dinah grips his arm harder, brows drawing up together. “Our Sara is…?” she asks, the hope in her voice and eyes almost enough to _crush him_. He’s been trying _so hard_ not to _**hope**_ -

He nods and Dinah sucks in a ragged breath, caving in on herself like she did- all those years ago, when they found out Sara died. Except she _didn’t_ -

“ _Where? Where is she?_ ” Dinah asks urgently, looking back up as she grips at both his arms and desperately searches his face, “Quentin, _ **where?**_ ”

“I don’t know,” he breathes, “ _I don’t know_. I’ve been _looking_ , but it’s like trying to find a needle in a _haystack_. He said she goes by ‘Ta-er al-Sahfer’ now. It means ‘the yellow bird’. The _canary_ , Dinah.”

Dinah freezes, then lets out a rush of breath. “Arabic?” she asks.

Lance nods. “The person who told me said she’s...she’s been an _assassin_ for the past five years.” Which he’s _still_ having a hard time wrapping his head around, but less so with...having seen Oliver Queen the way he was, changed and nearly unrecognizable save for some of his physical appearance.

Dinah freezes again before stepping closer. “Are you _sure?_ ” she asks lower. Lance nods and Dinah lets out another rush of breath, pulling away again but not letting go. She finally lets go with one hand, covering her mouth with it as her brows draw up together. “Our baby is _alive?_ ” she asks, red rimmed eyes shifting back up to him.

Lance takes a breath past the hard ache in his chest, reaching up to grip Dinah’s shoulders. He nods. “I believe so,” he answers, “Yes. We just need-”

“ _To find her_ ,” Dinah finishes for him, gripping his arm tight again. “I’ll look into _everything_ I can,” she adds urgently, brows lowering, “You find whoever told you about her and you _make them talk_ , do you understand? You do _whatever_ you have to. We can’t let her keep- being out there on her _own_. _God_ , Quentin, why hasn’t she come _home? Can_ she come home?”

Lance swallows, shakes his head. “ _I don’t know_ ,” he answers, his own brows lowering after a moment, “But _I promise_ , we’ll _find her_.” Dinah moves in to hug him and he hugs her back tight. It’s a little strange after all these years, but- They might be estranged, they might be divorced, but god, this is about their baby _girl_.

They hold onto each other tight for a minute, just trying to weather the eye of the storm, Dinah’s breathing fast and Lance’s heart stampeding. Dinah eventually pulls back enough to look up at him, brows drawn together. “Laurel doesn’t know, does she,” she says quieter. Lance shakes his head and Dinah’s expression hardens. “We need to _tell her_.”

“I don’t want to,” Lance confesses, “Not until we have some _solid proof_. She might not believe us.”

Dinah shakes her head a little. “We need to tell her _now_ , Quentin,” she returns firmly. “Lying won’t do us any good,” she adds quieter.

Lance takes a steadying breath, searching Dinah’s eyes for an answer. He finally finds one. “When Laurel and I get back to Starling,” he says, “When she’s home, somewhere familiar. Then...then I’ll tell her.”

Dinah slowly pulls away, letting go and turning to grab her bag off the nearby counter by the sink. “I’m coming with you,” she says, which makes him pause, heart skipping a beat. Dinah looks back, eyes hard and determined. “After I schedule some time off. I’ll be over as soon as it’s put in.”

Lance swallows and nods, fingers curling tight at his sides.

This is _crazy_ , but...but maybe, just _maybe_ he can get the broken pieces of his family back. It’s a dangerous thought, a dangerous hope, but one he finds himself wanting to believe in anyway.

\-----

Oliver and Shado help Yao Fei down into the basement, Thea bringing up the rear and keeping an eye out just to be safe, even though the three of them already checked. They find Felicity over at her computers, quickly typing something while Diggle stands stationed at her side, one hand on her shoulder. They both look over as the four of them step down into the room and Felicity quickly gets up and pushes her chair over, Shado giving her a grateful look as she and Oliver help lower Yao Fei down into it. He lets out a slow breath as he takes a seat, stretching his injured leg out with a small, pinched expression.

“Did you find your friend?” Shado asks, looking up from him to Felicity.

“Yes,” Felicity answers, blowing out a breath as her shoulders drop, dark circles starting to show under her eyes, “She and her fiance are fine, outside of his broken leg. They’ll be okay. How are...you?” she asks hesitantly, looking down to Yao Fei.

“Tired,” Yao Fei answers quietly, scanning the room.

“Understandable,” Felicity mumbles, looking back up to Shado. “When are you guys...leaving?” she asks hesitantly, brows drawing up together, “You are...leaving, right?”

Shado pauses, then smiles a little. “When the League is done,” she answers, stepping closer after a moment and resting a hand on Felicity’s shoulder, “Do not worry, we will see each other again.”

“Promise?” Felicity asks, small and hopeful.

Shado just smiles a little more and steps closer, enveloping her in a hug. Felicity returns it, hugging her back tight. They both pull back after a minute, looking at each other, and then Felicity jolts, eyes going wide. “Oh! What am I doing? Where are you two staying?” she asks quickly, looking between Shado and Yao Fei. “My place is kind of small, but Shado’s been staying with me, if you...want to stay there too?” she asks, eyes settling on Yao Fei.

He looks back up at her, then between the two of them. “That is fine,” he answers quietly, “Here is fine.”

“No, no, no, _here_ is definitely _not_ fine,” Felicity returns, hands settling on her hips, “You’ve been stuck in one of the worst places for _years_ and I- I am going to go buy you a cot to set up in my apartment. Dig, can you drive?” she asks, looking over to him. Diggle nods and heads over to check in with Thea while Felicity looks back to Yao Fei and Shado, then finally looks over at Oliver. “Wilson’s not with you?” she asks, brows rising, “I thought he’d be hovering.”

Oliver frowns, darting a look over at Thea when she snorts loudly. “I told you,” she says, laughing quietly.

Oliver sighs, looking back to Smoak. “He’s with Joe,” he answers quietly.

“Oh,” Felicity returns, mouth in a surprised ‘o’, “That makes sense. And Harper went to check on a friend of his in the Glades so...that accounts for everyone. Oh!” she lets out, looking to Oliver again. “That reminds me, I wanted to tell you I found Laurel listed in the Central General Hospital registrar when I was looking for my friend.” Oliver stills, shoulders tensing. “She’s fine,” Felicity quickly reassures, “Just some bruises and a concussion she’s getting over. She was released earlier today and should be on her way back now. I think her father signed her out.”

Oliver lets out a slow breath, nodding once. Smoak smiles a little and then jolts again. “Right! Cot. I’ll go get that set up at my place and then Dig and I will be back to get you,” she says, looking to Shado and Yao Fei again with a smile. “We’ll be back!” She darts over to grab her purse off her desk before shooting past all of them for the stairs, Diggling huffing an amused breath before following her up with Thea trailing behind.

“I’m heading home,” she says, “Mom’s probably worried sick.” She pauses and quickly walks back over to Oliver to give him one more hug. “See you tomorrow?” she asks quietly.

Oliver nods, hugging her back. “I’ll still be here,” he answers.

Thea nods and then pulls away, heading for the stairs again with one last look at him. 

Oliver watches her go before taking a breath and a seat on the floor, Shado wandering over to his bag still where he left it against the wall. She pulls the zipper open and his- father’s notebook out, walking back over and offering it down to him. 

Oliver looks from it up to her, slowly taking it, and then she moves over and takes a seat on the floor on the other side of her father, who’s still keeping an eye on the room even though his eyelids are drooping. He’s been awake nearly the whole time since they left the island, save for some sleep he got on the plane, like Oliver did. He’s out of Fyers’ uniform at least, in cargo pants and a hoodie like Oliver from the quick clothing run Thea, Smoak, and Diggle did when they got back.

“ _You can sleep, father_ ,” Shado says quietly, only reaching over and lightly setting a hand on his uninjured knee when Yao Fei’s eyes shift to her, “ _Oliver and I will keep watch_.”

Yao Fei slowly looks between them, then around at the room one more time before he finally lets himself slump in the chair, eyelids slowly closing. Oliver watches him for a long moment before looking to Shado and the pinched expression on her face she didn’t let her father see. She looks back, taking a quiet breath and smiling a little, real but weary.

It’s going to take time. Eventually Yao Fei will adjust to not being on the island, alone and on the lookout for anything that might try and drag him down with its teeth. Even if he doesn’t fully adjust, someday he’ll at least be able to fall asleep without someone watching the perimeter, or Shado looking so heartbroken for him.

Oliver stays until Smoak and Diggle return to take Yao Fei and Shado, then grabs a few knives and a gun out of his duffel and heads up, scaling the nearest fire escape up to a roof. He pulls a bandana on over the lower half of his face and starts heading for Laurel’s to check on her, texting Slade on the way.

\-----

Thea takes a breath and makes herself push the right front door open, the guard behind it’s hand lowering from his earpiece as he closes it behind her. Her mother nearly comes flying out of the living room, wrapping her up in a tight hug and sending her into deja vu and-

“Ow,” Thea lets out when her mother squeezes her arms too tight and Moira quickly eases up, pulling back.

“Thea, _sweetheart, are you alright?_ ” she asks urgently, eyes searching hers, “I tried calling you _and_ Mr. Diggle and I couldn’t reach either of you since _yesterday. Where were you?_ ”

“I’m fine,” Thea answers instead of addressing the rest, trying for a smile even though she can feel it cracking. Now that everything’s done and really...sinking in, now that she’s _home_ , it all feels more- Far away and _real_ at the same time, normality clashing with reality and sending her spinning with the weight of it. “Mom…” she trails off weakly, throat going tight.

“Oh, _Thea_ ,” her mother says softer, pulling her into a gentler hug. Thea goes easily, eyes squeezing shut as she grips her mother back. “Sweetheart, _shhhh, shhh_. You’re alright, you’re _home_.” A hand strokes over the back of her hair, over and over as the tears spill over, down her cheeks and into the shoulder of her mother’s blouse. “Is-” her mother pauses briefly before continuing quieter, “Is _everyone_ alright?”

_Is your brother alright?_

“Yeah,” Thea answers hoarsely, squeezing her mother tighter, “Yeah, everyone’s fine.” _Somehow_. 

Her mother doesn’t ask anymore questions, just holds onto her while Thea grips onto her back, shaking as she absorbs- everything, the League, Ollie almost dying, the strange group of people that attacked them after, being on that island, the same one Ollie spent _years_ on, that Wilson and Shado did, seeing her father's first grave, and now- being back here, home, in a place so... _normal_. It feels like she’s been gone for _weeks_ instead of _hours_.

Her mother guides her into the living room and over to the couch when her knees start buckling, and then goes back to stroking a hand over her hair while Thea cries into her shoulder, glad to just be _home_.

\-----

“I’m fine, Tommy,” Laurel reassures, watching the streets go by as her father steers the car around another corner. They’re almost at her apartment.

“ _Are you sure?_ ” Tommy asks for the third time, “ _Between my father disappearing with barely a word and what happened in Central City- I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you_.”

Laurel’s chest warms and she smiles a little, relaxing back further in the passenger seat. “I’m okay,” she says softer, then frowns a little, “What about your father?”

“ _I’m sure he’s fine_ ,” Tommy sighs, “ _He does this sometimes, just- ups and disappears for a few days or a week at a time. I’m sure he’ll show up a week from now back to his usual, stoic self_.”

Laurel’s lips twitch even as her brows furrow.

The vigilantes have gone quiet, and now Malcolm’s missing?

The car turns one more corner and then starts slowing, and Laurel’s eyes shift up. “Hey, Tommy, we’re here. I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“ _Okay_ ,” Tommy sighs, less exasperated and more soft, “ _I love you_.”

Laurel smiles again, soft and warm. “I love you too,” she replies quieter, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“ _Goodnight_ ,” Tommy says.

“Goodnight,” Laurel returns, pulling her phone away and hanging up just as her dad gets the car parked and shut off, the low hum of the engine going silent.

“Tommy Merlyn,” her dad says, sighing and shaking his head a little as he sits back, looking over at her wryly, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”

Laurel huffs a breath as she pockets her phone, unbuckling her seatbelt and raising a brow over at him. Her dad just shakes his head again as he unbuckles his own belt, but doesn’t move to get out. Laurel frowns a little. “Dad?” she asks after a minute.

“Laurel,” he starts, then stops, looking out the window. His dark brows furrow, low and conflicted, then he finally drags his eyes back over. Laurel pauses at the look in them, heavy and- worried? Scared? “There’s something I...need to tell you,” her dad continues, and Laurel’s heart beats a little harder.

“Okay,” she says slowly, hesitantly.

“I wanted-...I wanted to wait until I knew for sure, and I still don’t have any _solid_ proof, but- I think- I _believe_ Sara’s alive.”

Laurel stills, staring at him. “ _What?_ ” she finally asks after a beat.

Her father leans forward towards her over the center console. “ _Sara_. I think she’s _alive_.”

“What- Why- _Why_ would you think that?” Laurel asks quickly, brows furrowing, “Dad, this is coming out of nowhere, and that’s not- She _died, with_ Oliver on the Gambit. She’s not- She’s _not_ alive, she _can’t_ be. And even if you think- Dad, it’s been _**five years**_.”

“I know. I _know_ all that,” Lance lets out, sitting back again, “But-”

The driver’s side window shatters, glass spraying inside as they both recoil and then someone’s shouting, pointing a gun in her father’s face-

“Gimme your wallet!” a man shouts, haggard and wild looking around the eyes, “ _Your wallet!_ ” He jerks the gun up sharp and quick and her father slowly raises his hands.

“ _Okay_ ,” Lance says slowly, calmly, “Okay. I’m going to reach for it, alright?” Her father slowly lowers a hand towards his jacket.

Laurel watches him, heart pounding and body tense, wide eyes darting between them. “Dad-” she starts, voice tight.

“It’s alright, honey,” Lance says low and steady, keeping his eyes on the man as he slowly reaches inside his coat-

The man spots the gun holstered at his waist and shouts, firing, her dad jerking back with the hit and- 

Laurel _screams_ and the sound pitches high as the air ripples and warps, the door flying off its hinges and it and the man flying back as her father squeezes his eyes shut, pressing back hard into his seat.

\--

Oliver jerks to a sharp stop at the edge of the roof across the street, eyes widening when sees a man and car door go flying towards Laurel’s apartment building just after the gunshot and a piercing scream, Laurel’s voice, louder than it should be. He quickly gets his phone out and calls Slade. He can’t call an ambulance himself.


	40. I can hear the sirens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't given this a solid read through all the way through but I just want to post it for now. I'll look it over it as a whole later. Sorry for any mistakes!

“GSW through the shoulder!” a nurse shouts, one of three helping wheel the gurney down the emergency room hallway. Laurel tries to follow, eyes locked on her father laying on it, his eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted against the pain while another nurse presses a bandage to his bleeding shoulder, red soaking through the white. “Prep room fifteen!”

One of the nurses pulls away and puts a firm hand to Laurel’s shoulder, jerking her to an abrupt stop and preventing her from following past the double doors that bang open when the gurney hits them, her father disappearing behind them and down the hall. “Dad!” Laurel lets out, frantic, then clamps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

“Let us work,” the nurse says firmly, brows low. Laurel barely glances at her as the woman gives her shoulder a firm squeeze before pulling away and running to catch up.

Laurel stares after her, just barely sees the gurney with her father turn a right corner halfway down the stretch of hall before the doors close again and she’s left standing in the middle of the lobby. She stares at the metal seam where the doors meet, hand tightening hard around her mouth as she swallows roughly.

She’s not sure how long she stands there, but eventually she gets her feet moving through the static filling her head, all the noise and activity around her distant and warped like it’s coming through water. She sits down on a hard, plastic chair against a wall, keeping her hand over her mouth as she stares at the shining, scuffed, linoleum tile floor. She tightens her hand over her mouth as her eyes sting, throat going tight.

 _What did I do?_ she thinks, distant and frantic, body starting to tremble. She tightens her hand almost painfully, tears welling and tile blurring. She replays it in her head again, over and over, the man shouting, his wild eyes, the gun going off, her father jerking back with the shot, her screaming-

Her- _voice_ sent the guy back? Destroyed the door on the car too, sent them both flying into the stairs that lead up to her apartment building. The air... _rippled_ , like water. She-

“Laurel!” a familiar voice shouts after- she doesn’t know how long, Laurel’s head snapping up and eyes going wide as she jerks out of her thoughts.

“Mom!” she lets out before she catches herself, lips pressing hard together as her mother runs over and pulls her into a tight hug.

“I got the call to my cell twenty minutes ago!” her mother says, pulling back after a minute and gripping Laurel’s arms tight, eyes searching hers, “Are you alright?!”

“I-” Laurel starts, then clamps her mouth shut again, swallowing hard. “I don’t- know,” she whispers, “But dad-...” She swallows again, can’t finish as her vision blurs all over again.

Her mother’s brows draw up and she pulls Laurel into another hug. Laurel stares past her mother’s shoulder at the emergency wing’s doors, trying to think past the sound of her own scream in her head, loud like a siren.

\-----

“Are you sure?” Slade asks, looking over at him.

“I heard and saw it,” Oliver returns, eyes focused on the hospital building three rooftops away, “She blew the door off with her voice.”

“Yeah, but you also think that sword you’re carrying is cursed,” Slade replies.

Oliver slants a sharp look over at him and pulls the canister off his back, yanking it open and dropping it to the roof as he pulls the sword out, pulling the blade up out of the scabbard enough for Slade to see the weird reflection. It’s dim right now, but it shifts colors like a chameleon coating, red to green to purple to pink, _writhing_ along the blade, _in it,_ like smoke. Oliver didn’t want to admit it to himself before, but whatever part of him that had doubts about what he was seeing being real goes silent at Slade’s eyes widening a fraction, his lips pinching. 

Oliver slides the sword back into its sheath and picks up the canister, sealing it back up and slipping the strap on over his head.

“Fine,” Slade grunts, “The sword’s _something_ , but if your ex-girlfriend didn’t have powers before, why does she now?”

Oliver shakes his head, looking back to the hospital. “I don’t know.”

“ _Uh, guys_ ,” Smoak says from Slade’s cell set to speakerphone held up between them, voice a little groggy, “ _Iiiiiii think I might know. And ooooh boy, I hope I’m wrong. Because if I’m **right** , then...the world just got a lot...weirder.” _A pause. _“Wait. If that’s- Then that means my **friend** and her fiance might- Oh. **Oh my god**_.”

“ _Smoak!_ ” Slade barks, trying to get her back on track.

“ _The particle accelerator!_ ” Smoak answers quickly, “ _When it exploded it must have...caused some sort of...reaction. I’ll look into it after I take a nap and get back to you tonight when I know more. God, don’t either of you **sleep?** Wait, I forgot, you’re both terminators._ ”

The line clicks and Oliver frowns, still focused on the hospital.

Slade sighs as he hangs up and pockets his phone, looking ahead at the hospital too. He glances over at Oliver after a moment and then looks forward again. “Are you going to stand here and keep watch all day?” he grunts.

Oliver jerks out of his thoughts, looking over.

Slade looks back, raising an unimpressed brow. “If her father was injured, she’s not going anywhere. Even if she does, you said you saw her mother with her, right?”

Oliver nods, lips pressing together. He watches Slade turn and head for the other end of the roof, squinting against the setting sun, then stop and look back at him.

“Well?” Slade asks, letting the exhaustion Oliver’s been starting to feel seep into his voice enough for Oliver to hear it.

Oliver looks back to the hospital one more time, then takes a breath against the restless pressure in his chest to _do_ something and turns to follow, dropping over the other end of the roof into the shade after Slade. He contemplates calling Sara most of the way to the motel Slade picks, but eventually decides to wait. He’ll keep a eye on Laurel for the few days they have left here, then...he’ll call Sara, if she doesn’t call him first.

\-----

Laurel slowly taps at her phone screen, elbows braced on her thighs.

The police finally left about ten minutes ago after asking question after question, each one something she couldn’t really answer:

“ _What happened?”_

_“A man tried to mug us. He had a gun.”_

_“And after?”_

_“I...don’t know.”_

_“It looks like the door came clean off the car. Did he do that?”_

_“I don’t...I don’t know. It all happened so fast-_ ”

“ _My daughter is still in shock_ ,” her mother had cut in firmly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and gripping the opposite one tight.

“ _Was it either one of the vigilantes?”_ the police had asked, eyes boring into hers.

 _“...No,_ ” Laurel had answered, swallowing, “ _I didn’t see either of them_.”

She focuses back on her phone screen, tapping again and ignoring the news report playing up in the lobby’s corner tv about it as best she can. Tommy will probably see it and call her soon, and her mother will be back with lunch. Her father just got out of surgery and is still resting, so while she has a few minutes alone to herself, she wants to-

‘ _Loud scream ability_ ’ she taps into the browser, brows drawing together and teeth digging into her lower lip as she scrolls intently through the results, none of them even remotely what she’s looking for. She backspaces the search and types in, ‘ _Loud scream powers_ ’. Nothing, except comic books and fan made stories. She back spaces again, then-...after a moment of hesitation and glancing up at the tv:

“ _-appears neither Ghost nor Wraith were involved in the incident, but police are still looking-_ ”

She looks back down at her phone and types ‘ _Vigilante loud scream_ ’, stilling at the search results that pop up. She leans down closer to her phone, reading intently as her eyes slowly widen:

‘ _Local vigilantes people are calling ‘Wildcat’ and ‘The Black Canary’ stopped a local heist last night. Five were injured and one is presumed dead-’_

_‘Local New York City vigilante known as The Black Canary uses what people are reporting to be a ‘sonic cry’. No one yet knows if she uses a device or if she-’_

_‘After five years, the Black Canary disappears from the scene. Wildcat continues_ -’

Laurel stares, flinching sharply when her phone vibrates in her hands and Tommy’s name pops up on the screen in place of the results. She stares another moment before letting out a shaky breath and hitting answer, bringing her phone to her ear.

“ _Laurel! I saw what happened on the news. It was in front of your apartment building. Are you alright?_ ” he asks urgently.

Laurel stares down at the floor, searching it while she thinks.

Someone else might have had the same...ability. All of the reports were from the early eighties, but maybe if she could somehow track down more information about this…’Black Canary’, or even ‘Wildcat’, then maybe-

_Did anyone see what she did?_

Laurel freezes, staring.

“ _Laurel?_ ” Tommy asks, tense.

She jolts out of her thoughts. “I’m fine,” she answers on a breath, remembers to keep her...voice down, “Dad was shot but he just got out of surgery. I’m...waiting for my mother to get back.”

Tommy lets out a rush of breath across the line. “ _Oh thank god. Is he going to be alright?_ ”

“The doctors say so, yeah,” Laurel sighs, dropping back in her chair. She frowns a little when the hard plastic digs in below her shoulder blades, but it’s a tiny thing compared to everything else. “He just needs rest. They said we can go in and see him later tonight if he’s up for it.”

“ _I’m glad_ ,” Tommy says on a breath. It’s quiet for a beat, then, “ _Do you want me to come by? If your mom’s there I don’t want to intrude, I’m just...I’m worried about you_.”

“I’m…” Laurel’s voice goes a little strangled on the end as her throat tightens all over again, eyes stinging hard and sudden. “I’d...like that.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Tommy says softer, “ _I’ll be right over. Where are you?_ ”

“Emergency room lobby,” Laurel answers quieter, “But they moved dad so we’re going to head up to the main lobby when mom gets back.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Tommy says steadily, far more steady than she feels. She leans on it a little bit. “ _I’ll meet you there_.”

“Okay,” Laurel whispers, squeezing her eyes shut. The line clicks and she slowly lowers her phone, looking down at it as she ends the call. The search results come back up and she stills again, staring. She slowly taps over to the ‘images’ tab and brings her phone up closer, tapping at the first picture she sees. 

It’s of both the vigilantes, presumably, a woman with blonde hair in all black and a man in some sort of...black suit, thick and form fitting with black masks covering the top halves of both their faces.

Laurel taps to the next photo, and the next, all old and grainy, but- 

_It’s something_ , she thinks firmly, fingers curling tighter around her phone as her brows slowly draw down together. It’s better than the...terrifying _nothing_ it could have been. At least something like- like what’s somehow happened to _her_ might have happened to someone else. At least there’s the possibility for answers _somewhere_. But she didn’t...she couldn’t _do_ this before, she would have noticed if she could, so what- _How_ -

 _The accelerator explosion_ , she realizes after a minute, eyes going wide as she looks up, across the lobby at the bacterial informational poster hanging on the opposite wall. That’s the only thing that changed in the last few days, the only strange thing that’s happened before-

Laurel quickly drops her eyes to her phone and taps out of the image results, doing a search on Central City and the particle accelerator, looking for- _anything, **anything**_ that might give her answers on what _happened to her_.

\-----

“Mom?” Thea asks a little groggily, rubbing at her eyes as she gently nudges the study door open, shuffling inside, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. What are you doing in here?” She looks around as she lowers her hand, at all the books, the intricate designs in the rugs, her father’s old, huge desk. She hasn’t been in here in years.

Her mother looks up from the desk, sat behind it in her father’s old chair, stark against the deep, emerald green leather and gaze going distant again as she lowers her eyes. “Just...thinking. About your father, about Quentin, Malcolm.”

Thea frowns, coming to a stop in front of the desk. 

Her mother glances at her again before looking away, out the dark windows. “Before Oliver came back and Quentin came over, I hadn’t been in here in…” She huffs a breath, continuing quietly, “Years. I’ve always had the staff keep it clean and dusted, but I hadn’t stepped foot in it since before your father-...” she trails off, lips pressing flat together as her brows lower.

Thea drops her gaze, looks down at the designs in the wood. She reaches over after a minute and traces the tip of her finger over them, the jagged lines and arching points, the wood smooth and polished, as smooth as it was the last time she touched it, unchanged with time and age.

It’s quiet for a little while until her mother says, “I’m thinking about dropping out of the Mayoral race.”

Thea’s eyes dart up, but her mother keeps her own focused out the window, at the dark, trimmed hedges and flowers beyond. She lets out a weary sigh, going almost boneless back in the seat, arms resting on the armrests and hands dangling loosely over the ends.

“Initially, I only joined because Malcolm wanted me to,” her mother continues after a minute, huffing a breath, “Part of his ‘grand scheme’. But…” She looks over, brows drawing up a bit. “You told me he’s dead?” she asks again.

Thea nods, lips pressing together. “Ollie said he died when he was with the League, before the island,” Thea answers quietly. She told her mother as much as she could after crying her eyes out, talked low and private, kept it just between the two of them. Her mother had cried then, too, broke down in ways Thea had never seen before, became so much more...reachable, like she wasn’t living on a higher plane than the rest of them anymore. Her mother always had that way about her, like she wasn’t quite living on Earth like they all were, like she was untouchable, transcendent, a _Queen_. It was...surreal, to see her so...human.

Her mother lets out a long, slow breath, like she’s dispelling all the air in her body with every single weight Malcolm had added onto her over the years, eyes shifting to look out the window again. “Then there’s no...real reason for me to do it anymore,” she says quietly, softly, almost wistfully.

Thea watches her for a long moment before slowly walking around the corner of the desk, stopping at the side of it. Her mother looks over. “Did you like it? Any of it,” Thea asks quietly.

“Some,” her mother admits after a thoughtful pause, “I truly _do_ want to help this city, but if Malcolm’s gone, then…”

“ _Then_ , why don’t you try doing it for yourself?” Thea suggests gently. Her mother’s eyes snap back up to her and Thea smiles a little with a tiny shrug. “Just because he forced you into it and he’s gone now doesn’t mean it’s...a bad idea. I thought-...I _think_ you’d be a good mayor.”

Her mother watches her for a long moment, searching her face. “You do?” she asks quieter.

Thea smiles a little more and nods, shuffling a little closer. “And if it’s something you want to do...I don’t see how Malcolm being dead should keep you from doing it. If anything, him being dead should make it seem...like a better idea, don’t you think? You won’t have someone pulling your strings, you can do things the way _you_ wanted to, the way you think they should be done. You can help people without an ulterior motive.”

Her mother studies her again and Thea tries not to shift under the scrutiny. Then her mother smiles, small and warm. “You’ve grown,” she says quietly.

Thea’s cheeks warm a little and she looks away, trying to ignore the embarrassment in her chest.

“We’ll see,” her mother says softly, drawing Thea’s attention back. 

Thea watches her stare out the window again, then shifts her own eyes to look too, at the flowers, at the way the warm light from the room hits the yellow-pink roses just beyond the glass and tints them gold. 

It’s quiet again, a gentle kind of quiet, until a pressure starts building in Thea’s chest, the same one she got when she was telling her mother most of what happened on the island. There were some things she left out, like how badly Ollie was injured, and whatever that League woman- Nyssa, gave him to save him, but she also left out…

“Ollie...showed me something, while we were on the island,” she starts quietly when the pressure finally wins out, forces the words past her tightening throat. She swallows, drops her eyes to the nearest rug so she doesn’t have to see her mother’s gaze and makes herself continue. “He showed me...he said dad made it off the boat for a few days before he-...” She has to stop, swallowing harder as her fingers curl. She makes herself look over at her mother, finds her blue eyes wide and mouth open a little. “He showed me where dad was...buried, on the island,” she finally finishes.

One of her mother’s hands quickly comes up, covering her own mouth. It trembles while her mother’s eyes shine brighter in the light. “Robert-...your father...he-... _survived?_ ”

Thea nods, her own eyes starting to sting. “Yeah,” she forces out, “For a few days, but he didn’t…” She swallows, debates with herself how much to say before settling on, “He didn’t...make it.”

Her mother closes her eyes firmly at that, then squeezes them shut, tears slipping past, down her cheeks. 

Thea swallows harder, fingers curled tight. “Should I-...Do you want me to go?” she asks quietly, hesitantly after a minute.

Her mother shakes her head, then pushes herself up and steps closer, pulling her into a hug, careful of her arms. Thea returns it, holding onto her tight as she squeezes her eyes shut. Her mother doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask anything, just shakes against her as she cries quietly and Thea holds on, letting her own tears slip past as the five year old wound in her chest reopens, aches nearly as much as it did the first time, the second time on the island. It feels...different this time though, because now they _know_ , now they know what really happened, and now they have answers.

\-----

Oliver turns his head a little as he stirs, chin meeting something firm. He listens first, hears muffled sounds a few walls away and quiet breathing, feels it puff warm against the side of his neck either side of the scar. He cracks his eyes open, finds the- motel room. Right. He followed Slade to the motel.

It’s dark, the sun down. He glances down and finds Slade’s large arm wrapped around him just below his chest, a leg hooked over one of his like it’s trying to stop him from leaving. Oliver looks up at the dark ceiling for a few minutes while he tries to wake up, lets himself gradually drift out of the drowsiness for once instead of snap to attention like a soldier. Slade shifts against him after another minute, stubble scratching a little up above his collarbone.

“One of these days I’m going to dismantle your brain from the rest of you,” Slade rumbles low and sleep rough somewhere below his jaw.

Oliver huffs a faint breath. “What would you do with the rest of me?” he asks quietly.

“Get ten more minutes of fuckin’ _sleep_ ,” Slade grumbles back.

Oliver snorts quietly and closes his eyes, trying to ignore the- Laurel, the sword, the last two days as a whole. Slade was right to drag him away from the hospital, he wouldn’t have been as effective if he’d stayed there, awake the whole time. He needed sleep. And…

Oliver reaches his furthest hand up, drawing his fingertips lightly down the smooth and scarred skin of Slade’s arm around him. It tightens a little, then slides down, hand coming to rest over the place where Ra’s had stabbed him. Slade’s rough thumb rubs the spot, smooths over it like he’s both searching for the evidence and trying to smooth away the reminder. 

Oliver hasn’t gotten to just...lay still, like this, and ignore the rest of the world beyond the four walls surrounding them in what feels like...a while, longer than it’s actually been. He lets out a slow breath, deflating back into the bed a bit with it. He feels Slade sigh quietly against his neck, the leg around his shifting a little before settling again. Oliver lets the drowsiness soak back into him and drag him down. 

Ten more minutes might be okay.

Slade shifts after two and pushes up a bit, leg unhooking from around his and moving over so Slade can straddle him, settling his weight all along his front. Oliver drags his eyes open, looking up.

“What happened to ‘ten minutes’?” he asks quietly, almost a whisper.

Slade stares down at him, gaze quiet but intent. “You woke me up,” he answers, just as quiet, then leans down and kisses him, and it isn’t a morning kiss at all. It’s slow, but it’s firm, almost hard, presses Oliver’s head back into the pillow and makes his arms come up, blunt nails digging into Slade’s back. Slade’s tongue slips into his mouth and Oliver finds it with his own, feels Slade’s thumb rub over that spot below his chest again. It’s a reminder and the guilt still kicks him between the ribs, but Oliver’s not sure if that’s the point. He never really asked if Slade forgave him, just apologized over and over, but Slade’s never really been the forgiving type.

“I’m sorry,” Oliver whispers between kisses, means it with every fiber of his being like he did with the last- countless times.

“I know,” Slade replies low and quiet, mouth barely leaving his.

“I won’t do it again,” Oliver whispers, nails digging in a little.

Slade’s thumb presses to the spot harder as he pulls his head back, breaking the kiss to glare down at him. “I know,” he growls a little harder. They don’t move for a minute, just looking at each other, and then Slade’s hand slides up Oliver’s chest, over his collarbone to the side of his neck, grips his jaw. Slade looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t, and Oliver slides one of his own hands down, gripping Slade’s shoulder.

“I promise,” Oliver whispers, still staring up.

Slade’s lips press hard together as his grip tightens. “Can you keep it,” he says more than asks.

Oliver nods his head a little anyway, feels bone weary exhaustion seep into him like it was always there. “I’m tired,” he whispers, broken and open and honest, searching Slade’s mismatched eyes before focusing on the brown one, “I’m tired of dying.”

Slade stares down at him, hard and intent for a long minute before huffing a dark laugh, mostly breath. “Only took you three times,” he says low.

The guilt kicks Oliver again, but it’s lighter than the last time. It’s a barb and a joke, dark humor and accusation all in one. “I’m sorry,” Oliver whispers again, slides his hand up and grips Slade’s cheek. “I won’t be that person anymore,” he promises, lips pressing together briefly before making himself finish, “I have someone I want to come home to.”

Slade’s expression tightens, edges a little into conflicted. “Are you sure?” he asks quietly, eyes hardening, “You know I can’t give you what everyone else has, what your sister and ex-girlfriend have.”

“I don’t want it,” Oliver confirms, gripping Slade’s cheek tighter while his own eyes harden, firm and sure, “I want...whatever this is, here, with you. As long as you’re here, I don’t care where we are.”

Slade studies him for a long moment before huffing again, lips twitching up even as his brows lower. “You sound like a hallmark card,” he says.

Oliver snorts quietly, lips curling up a fraction. “They sell for a reason.”

“I never saw one that said ‘I’ll follow you around the world with a sword in my hand’,” Slade returns, a little derisive.

“Pretty sure there’s one somewhere that says ‘I’ll kill for you’,” Oliver returns, joking, and not.

Slade’s miniscule smile fades and his thumb rubs over the stubble along Oliver’s jaw, gaze hardening again. “I don’t want you to be my tool,” he says firmly.

“It’s not like Ra’s,” Oliver returns, quiet and calm, “I want to be whatever you need, but not _just_ what you need. I don’t want to break for you.” Even though he would, if he absolutely had to. He’d break a thousand times over if Slade needed that from him.

Slade’s thumb shifts over to the corner of his mouth, still watching him intently. “I don’t want you to break for me,” Slade replies quieter, “I want you to live.”

Oliver watches Slade back, the weight in his chest both...fading and growing. It’s a different weight now, not the one of dying for someone, but of... _living_ , for someone, for himself. It’s...new, something a little different from the one he had on the island. “I will,” Oliver whispers, rubbing his own thumb over Slade’s cheek, “I promise.”

Slade watches him for another moment, searching his face, then seems to find what he’s looking for and leans down to kiss him, slow and firm and intent. Oliver’s eyes close as he pushes up into it, returning it just the same. It feels like ‘ _I love you_ ’, but also ‘ _I promise_ ’, and ‘ _I will_ ’, a...future. It feels like a future, something Oliver hasn’t really thought about in over five years. But he can now, and he will, and as daunting as it is to consider, he won’t...he won’t be doing it alone.

\-----

Laurel slowly walks into the hospital room with her mother leading the way, holding her hand tight. Her mother gets a look around the half pulled curtain first, other hand coming up to cover her mouth and Laurel swallows, eyes finding her father as she slowly steps past the curtain too.

His eyes are open, barely, and he’s all but jello in a hospital gown in the bed, boneless and beyond weary from the adrenaline, surgery, and the drugs helping him manage the pain. His eyes are slow to find them, but when they do, they open a little more and he shifts a little like he’s going to try and sit up more before he remembers the bullet wound and grimaces, deflating again. Dinah lets go of Laurel’s hand hurries over to get the bed button for him, raising it a little. Lance gives her an exhausted, grateful look while Laurel watches from her newly abandoned island.

“Laurel,” her father says, quiet and wispy but there while he beckons with a few fingers. Laurel blinks past the sting in her eyes and quickly hurries forward, just as quickly taking his hand when he starts trying to raise it.

“ _Dad_ ,” she says wetly, vision blurring.

“ _Heeey, heeey, shhhh_. I’m alright, sweetheart,” he says, still so quiet, “Nothing I haven’t been through before.”

Laurel shakes her head a little, squeezing her eyes shut. That’s true, but she was never- she was never _there_ for it when it happened, had to see it up close, _hear_ it, on top of-

“Are _you_ okay?” he asks, and she sucks in a ragged breath, chest squeezing tight.

“I’m more worried about _you_ ,” Laurel manages to get out, voice hoarse and rough. She wipes the tears away with her free hand but more just keep falling, her view of her father clearing before her vision blurs again.

“I’m okay,” he repeats, squeezing her hand surprisingly hard for how tired he looks.

They’re all quiet while Laurel tries to get herself back under control, sees her mother’s eyes red when she looks up and her father’s a little red around the edges too. Lance looks over to Dinah and takes a breath. “Dinah, can you give us a minute?” he asks quietly.

“Sure, Quentin,” Dinah returns softly, bending down to press a firm kiss to his forehead. Lance’s eyes shut before Dinah starts pulling away, brows drawn together. She looks between them worriedly one more time before quietly leaving the room, disappearing past the curtain and out into the hall.

Her father looks back to her after a moment and Laurel’s eyes find his, stilling at the scrutiny in them. It’s not judging, but it’s...the look he gets when he’s trying to solve a case.

“You blew the door off,” her father croaks quietly, and Laurel freezes, eyes widening while her heart nearly stops with her breath in her chest. “With your...voice?”

Laurel’s heart pounds hard in her ears, nearly drowning out the sound of her father’s question. “Dad, I-” she stops, doesn’t know how to continue. She squeezes his hand tight and he squeezes hers back.

“Laurel...what happened?” he asks quietly, almost a whisper, searching her face.

Laurel shakes her head quick and hard, looking around and reaching for the nearby chair behind her with her free hand, quickly pulling it over and sitting own. “I don’t know,” she answers, gripping his hand in both of hers, “Dad, I don’t- I don’t _know._ ” Her throat goes tight again as the tears build and spill. “I think it was the- the explosion. It did- it did _something. I don’t know what_ -”

“Hey, hey. _Shhh_ , Laurel, take a breath,” her father says when her breathing gets too fast, and Laurel sucks in one like she hasn’t breathed in years, eyes squeezing shut. He grips her hand tighter and she lowers down, pressing her forehead to their mess of overlapping fingers, the gold rings on hers cool against her overheated skin. “...Whatever happened, whatever it is, we’ll deal with it, together, okay?” her father says low and firm after a few minutes, and Laurel squeezes her eyes shut before lifting her head a little, looking up at him.

Her father looks back, brown eyes as firm as his voice, and concerned but-...warm, and not...not _scared_ , not scared of her, not like she is of herself.

“Okay?” he repeats, giving her hands a little shake with his.

“Okay,” Laurel chokes out, more tears slipping warm down her cheeks, “Dad, I found-...I found information on a vigilante from the eighties that might have…” She swallows, keeping her voice lowered. “That might have had the same...thing. I want to track her down.”

Her father searches her eyes again, brows slowly drawing down. “Then as soon as I get out of here, _we_ will,” he returns, giving her hands another squeeze, “Okay? I didn’t tell the guys who came to question me about what happened before you got here. You’re safe, Laurel. It’s you and me, okay?”

“Okay,” Laurel whispers, brows drawn up together, “Okay.” She sucks in another breath, barely letting go long enough to wipe at her eyes before glancing quickly towards the door through the curtain, then back. “What about mom?” she asks.

Her father’s eyes dart to the door and back too. “One step at a time,” he answers, “When you’re ready.”

Laurel nods a little, swallowing hard.

They’re quiet again before Laurel remembers-

“Sara,” she starts, and her father’s eyes focus back on her where they started drifting. She swallows the guilt. “Why did you think...Why did you think Sara was still alive?”

Her father watches her for a long moment before taking a long, slow breath, eyes shifting away for a minute. He finally looks back. “Someone told me she was, that she’s been…” He takes a shakier breath. “That she’s been an assassin for the past five years, after the wreck.”

Laurel sucks in a breath, heart beating hard and fast, brows drawing lower as she searches her father’s eyes. “But, dad, that’s-”

“I know,” he cuts her off, “I know how it sounds.”

“Who would- Who _told_ you that?” Laurel demands.

Her father stares at her intently, enough that Laurel pauses, fingers squeezing his tight at the look in his eyes. “Doesn’t matter,” he settles on, and she frowns, lips pressing hard together. He’s hiding something. “What _does_ matter, is I believe him. I don’t think he was lying.”

 _‘He’?_ Laurel thinks.

She sits back a little, eyes dropping to the edge of the bed while she tries to- processes that. She searches the jagged, repeating pattern in the white blanket for a couple minutes before closing her eyes, too-... _overwhelmed_.

“So Sara _might_ be alive, has been an _assassin_ , and I- I can destroy things with my _voice?_ ” she lets out, keeping her voice hushed. She opens her eyes when she hears her father huff a breath, finds him staring up at the ceiling.

“Like I said,” he starts after a minute, eyes dropping back down to her, “One thing at a time.”

Laurel lets out a breath, nothing near a laugh. They sit in the quiet again. Laurel gradually leans forward, resting her cheek on her father’s uninjured arm and not letting go of his hand, even if it makes holding it a little awkward. Her father lowers it to the bed and hers follow.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” he croaks out after a minute, sounding more tired than he did earlier.

“Out pacing a hole in the lobby floor,” Laurel answers, not lifting her head. She feels and hears her father huff a laugh where her head is resting on his arm and it makes her lips twitch, miraculously. She closes her eyes, rubbing her thumb over her father’s worn knuckles.

\--

Dinah holds a hand over her mouth, standing frozen solid outside the hospital room doorway. She stares down at the pale green tile floor for a long minute, two, before finally getting her feet unstuck and walking back down the hall.


	41. I wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure about this chapter but here we are

“Okay, so I haven’t been able to dig up much about the accelerator explosion other than it was _supposed_ to be used to power Central City with clean energy,” Felicity reports into her bluetooth as she reads off her computer screens, “What happened instead was- No one really knows yet, except that something went wrong _somewhere_ and dark matter may have been involved. I’ve found a lot of theories and speculation, especially about the latter with supposed energy readings, but nothing official.” She sighs, sitting back in her chair to the sound of sticks hitting somewhere to her back left, Joe and Harper at it again. “So whatever happened to Laurel, it _might_ have something to do with that, but I can’t say for sure.”

“ _She’s not going to explode is she?_ ” Slade grunts from the other end of the line.

Felicity thinks she hears a huff that might be Oliver, but she can’t be sure about that either. “Your guess is as good as mine,” she answers with a shrug, “But if it hasn’t happened already? I’m thinking no.” She sits forward again and taps at her keyboard. “I’ve also been trying to look into previous instances where enhanced individuals may have made an appearance and I’ve found some that might hold some truth, but I need to dig into it more,” she continues, “Apparently, you’re not the only vigilantes that have been around.”

“ _We’re not vigilantes_ ,” Slade grunts, then hangs up before Felicity can say anything more.

She frowns over towards her bluetooth as she pulls it out, huffing a frustrated breath. “Rude,” she mutters. She hears a snort from her left and her eyes darts up and over.

“You’re surprised?” Diggle teases, lips curled up.

Felicity’s cheeks warm a little and she forces her eyes back to her screens, setting the bluetooth down and getting her fingers back on her keyboard. “No, it’s just...I don’t know, he was _less_ rude yesterday. Guess we were getting spoiled,” she finishes in a mutter.

Diggle snorts again as the sound of sticks hitting continues. He looks over to check on his charge, Thea still leaning back against the opposite wall studying Harper and Joe. “How’s Shado’s father?” Diggle asks after a minute, looking back.

Felicity glances over again before returning to her screens. “As well as he can be, I guess,” she answers, brows drawing together a little, “Shado’s staying with him at my apartment. I don’t think she wants to leave him alone, not that I can blame her.”

Diggle nods and pulls the second chair they brought down with them closer to take a seat at the side of the desk, smiling to himself when Felicity pauses typing briefly and he catches her cheeks going a little redder.

It’s quiet for a minute, two, and then Felicity says, “Do you like Italian? Or do you want to do something else? I feel like Italian’s overdone. Maybe we could do Indian?” looking up in thought. Her eyes dart over then back, head ducking a little at her rambling.

“There’s a Greek place that just opened up downtown?” Diggle suggests.

Felicity stills and then slowly looks over, eyes wide. “Marry me,” she says, then freezes, eyes going wider as her face goes tomato red. “I didn’t mean- I just-”

Diggle laughs quietly and Felicity huffs a breath at herself, sending the few loose strands of her bangs straight up. “Greek is good?” Diggle asks after a minute, smiling again.

“Greek is perfect,” Felicity answers, eyes darting bashfully between him and her screens. Diggle smiles at her more and she pauses, smiling shyly back.

\-----

Slade looks across the street into Laurel’s apartment, resting an elbow on his thigh where he’s sitting cross-legged on the opposite roof. “You want to stay here all night?” he grumbles.

“I want to make sure she’s okay,” Oliver corrects quietly from his left, frowning as he keeps an eye on the apartment’s windows.

“You’re not responsible for her,” Slade says.

“It’s not that,” Oliver replies, going quiet for a few moments before continuing a little softer, “I don’t feel as close to her as I did before the League, but I’ve known her a long time. I want to make sure she’ll be okay before we leave.”

Slade rests his jaw in his hand, tilting his head a little. He slants a look over at Oliver and smirks. “Is that all?”

Oliver finally looks back, brows drawing low together as he frowns. He’s quiet for a beat before asking, “Are you teasing me?”

Slade shrugs a shoulder and Oliver huffs quietly, looking back to the apartment. The lights are on inside. He’s seen Laurel, her mother, and Tommy pass a few of the windows, but it’s been a scarce thing. It seems like they’re taking a break from the hospital; they’ll probably go back in the morning.

It’s quiet for a few minutes before Slade says, “So. Japan,” drawing Oliver’s attention back. Oliver becomes acutely aware of the canister on his back again. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep the sword?”

“It shouldn’t be used,” Oliver answers low and quiet, fingers curling a little. He drops his eyes to the roof ledge a few feet in front of them before dragging his gaze back over to Slade. “Ra’s told me about it once.” Slade’s expression hardens at the mention but he keeps quiet. “The sword takes in the souls of whoever it kills. I don’t want the reminder.”

“So it’s haunted,” Slade surmises dryly.

Oliver huffs faintly but doesn’t argue it, looking back to the apartment. They’re both quiet again before he asks, “Do you think we’re going to hell?” He feels a weighted gaze on him and looks over again to find Slade watching him, face turned a little more towards him this time but jaw still resting in his palm.

“I don’t think it matters,” Slade answers after a few moments. Oliver frowns and Slade continues, “I’ve only ever really believed in what I could do with my own two hands, anything beyond that is out of my control and pointless to wonder about.” Oliver looks away again, then back when he hears shifting and a hand grips the side of his jaw over his bandana beneath his hood. Slade leans closer, breath warm even through the cloth. “But wherever I’m going when I die, if I’m going anywhere, I don’t think I’m going alone.”

Oliver swallows a little, reaching up to hold onto Slade’s wrist.

“Does it scare you?” Slade asks quieter, dark eye watching him, shifting to look between each of his. Slade’s gaze is steady, more curious than anything.

Oliver thinks it over for a minute, two, before shaking his head a little, holding Slade’s stare. “I knew enough about what I was choosing when I made my decision to join the League,” Oliver answers quieter, giving Slade’s wrist a squeeze, “And I told you, as long as you’re there, I don’t care where we are.”

Slade watches him for another moment before huffing quietly, smoothing a thumb near the corner of Oliver’s mouth over the bandana. “Figured you’d be a romantic.”

Oliver huffs back quietly. “You don’t want me to come with you?”

“I didn’t say that,” Slade answers quieter, almost a whisper as he closes the distance, kissing Oliver over the cloth, through it. Oliver leans into a little as he returns it as much as he can, closing his eyes with a quiet sigh through his nose.

If there is a heaven or a hell or a purgatory, his path hasn’t strayed far from Slade’s since they met on the island. He’s pretty sure wherever Slade goes, Oliver will go with him, and even if that’s into a dark nothing...he’s fine with it.

\-----

Laurel stares down at her phone screen, slowly scrolling through the search results on ‘Black Canary’ while she listens to Tommy puttering around with her mother behind her in the kitchen. They’re talking low and quiet, just a little lower than the tv on in front of her, but it’s all background to what she’s focused on.

‘Black Canary’ is the woman vigilante from the image results she found earlier, and she seems to be the one with what the reporters back then had dubbed ‘the canary cry’. Laurel can’t find anything on her after she left New York City, she seems to have just...vanished, but given that she hid her face and was going by a vigilante name, that’s not a complete surprise. The blonde hair might even be a wig, even though it doesn’t look like one. It makes Laurel wonder briefly about Starling City’s vigilantes, if she’s passed them on the street without even knowing. But that’s something to worry about later.

She focuses back down on her phone, then her eyes snap up when the tv catches her attention:

“- _incident involving a policeman earlier this evening. Sources are saying the mugger died on route to the hospital from blunt force trauma. The remains of the car wreckage were hauled away to be dealt with by local authorities, but the damage to the vehicle was inconsistent with the acts of either of Starling City’s vigilantes_ -”

Laurel’s phone drops into her lap as both her hands come up to cover her mouth and she stares, eyes wide eyed and heart pounding in her chest.

 _He’s dead_ , she thinks through the static, the heaving drum of her heart in her ears while her chest squeezes tight and her body starts to tremble, _The man is- I killed him_.

She stares in stunned silence for three seconds, five before she bolts as her stomach upturns, phone clattering to the floor as she sprints for her bedroom. She makes the bathroom sink, if not the toilet, fingers scrabbling for the faucet nozzles and cool water spraying away the wreckage of her nauseated horror as it comes burning up the back of her throat.

She hears her name called by Tommy and her mother past the doorway under the sound of the water hitting the porcelain, then low talking in her bedroom. Her mother finds her first, hunched over the sink with her hands braced against the white, fingers like claws trying to tear through it as she shakes and trembles. There’s tears on her face, she realizes distantly, but mostly all she feels is the burn up the back of her throat and the nausea still swirling in her gut as her thoughts spin just as fast, repeating the information over and over and over:

_He’s dead. He’s dead. I killed him. **I killed him he’s dead-**_

“ _Laurel? Sweetheart?_ ” comes her mother’s voice at the doorway, worried and concerned.

Laurel cups her hands under the water and brings them up, shoulders hunching as she sips, swishing the water in her mouth before spitting it back out in the sink, buying herself a minute. She cups her hands again and repeats it, then again to splash water on her face, heedless of her makeup, and buys herself two more. Three minutes, and her mind is still scrambling, reeling, the nausea still rocking waves in the pit of her stomach. She makes herself shut the faucet off, staring down into the sink in the sudden silence for few moments as her heart pounds loud in her ears.

Her mother moves past her and Laurel drags her eyes up when her mother stops next to her, pausing at the offered hand towel and then slowly taking it, rubbing at her face with trembling hands. It takes her makeup off with it, smears her mascara and lipstick. She focuses on her reflection in the mirror over the static, through it, rubbing almost absently at the lingering spots of makeup until most of it’s gone.

“Honey, what happened?” her mother asks softly after one more minute, one more minute of damning silence.

“I saw the report,” Laurel answers, quiet and shaky, almost a croak. Her fingers curl tight in the towel as the backs of her eyes sting, throat still burning. “I- I-”

“ _When you’re ready_ ,” her dad had said.

 _God_ , she’s not ready. She doesn’t know if she ever _will_ be.

She sucks in a shaky breath, then another, throat going tight. Her mother slowly steps close, gently wraps an arm around her shoulders and Laurel crumbles like a dry sandcastle left out in the wind and sea air. It hits her even harder then, makes her knees buckle and her mother quickly follows her down to the floor, wrapping her up in her arms.

“ _I-_ ” Laurel chokes out, but she can’t get the rest of it to come up, throat strangling the words like a noose around her neck.

She cries, like she hasn’t since finding out about- her sister, Oliver, cries into her mother’s shoulder like she’s a child again and her mother holds her through it, gently hushes her and rocks her a little while stroking a hand over the back of her hair. Then her mother starts singing, low and soft and so gentle, so kind, so much like Laurel remembers from- before everything fell apart and reshaped into something else, something fractured and bruised, the edges broken clean off and a jagged splinter right down the middle, and it just makes Laurel cry harder, feeling cursed and- _terrified_ , of herself, of what she’s done, and wishing- _wishing_ things were simple and easy again, wishing she could hear Sara and her father teasing each other back and forth in the kitchen while her father cooks and her mother grades papers at the table, wishing Ollie was a phone call away and she was still trying to figure out what she wanted to do, when all she really knew was that she wanted to be happy, even thought she had that part all worked out.

She lets herself cling to her mother, feels her mother cling a little back and lets it all out, the hurt and horror and terror. She hears Tommy’s footsteps stop at the doorway, then hears them cross closer after a few moments and clothing shift nearby, and then his arms wrap around her too and she shakes harder, feels loved and undeserving of it at the same time, no matter how much she _needs it_.

She still aches, like a giant bruise, it’s just now there’s- _more_ on top of it, in place of the ones that had mostly healed over.

 _What have I done?_ she thinks desperately, clinging harder, _What have I done?_

\-----

“Alright,” Thea finally says after an hour, standing up from the basement wall, “I propose instead of us doing _this_ the whole first night of getting back from Hell Island, we drink. We deserve it.”

Joe and Roy both pause, panting as they look over.

“Drink...what? Where?” Roy asks, then his eyebrows shoot up, “How do I keep forgetting you’re rich?”

“My charming personality,” Thea replies with a small, smug smirk.

Joe frowns but slowly eases up out of his stance, contemplating it for a minute before cocking his head to the side. “Where?”

“We’ll find a place. Come on,” Thea says, gesturing and turning for the stairs.

Roy and Joe share a look before following while Felicity and Diggle watch them go, sharing their own look.

“I’ll keep tabs,” Felicity says.

“I’ll follow,” Diggle sighs, getting up and heading for his car.

\--

The music is loud, the lights are strobing and blinding, and Thea can barely hear herself think over the crowd.

It’s perfect.

“So a spy, a thief, and a princess walk into a rave,” Roy says, just loud enough between them to be heard over the music but still kept within their private little bubble near the club entrance.

“You’re not funny,” Thea says back.

Roy frowns over at her, eyebrows rising. “Yes I am. And you’re paying for everything,” he points.

Thea sighs but her lips curl up and she starts heading through the crowd, or tries to. She bumps into someone and grunts quietly, trying to ignore the dull ache up her arm, then bumps into someone else, or they bump into her, it’s hard to tell. She veers off towards the wall after a minute of struggling to get through and Roy and Joe follow, frowning at her.

“I don’t think I thought this all the way through!” she shouts over the music, aches going up and down both arms.

Roy and Joe share a look before they start steering her back out, Thea frowning the whole way. “I said you were paying for everything!” Roy shouts back before they’re outside again, looking between the three of them. He smirks after a moment, smug, and crosses his arms. “Just buy a liquor store, Queen.”

“I’m not buying a liquor store,” Thea replies, moving to cross her own arms before thinking better of it.

\--

Thea, Roy, and Joe all take a seat on the floor in the middle of her bedroom, staring around at the bottles.

“You might as well have,” Joe comments, reaching for the vodka and twisting the cap off.

Thea huffs a sigh. “I was looking forward to the club. I haven’t actually been to one in…” she trails off in thought, glancing up, “A _while_. Feels longer than it’s been.”

“Trauma will do that to you,” Joe replies, taking a drink straight from the bottle and cringing a little afterwards.

Roy snorts.

Thea looks over and sighs again, reaching for the tequila. “Maybe it’s for the best,” she says a little morosely, looking around at the bottles and the snacks they nabbed on the way: doritos, funions, teriyaki, nachos, cheeseburgers and chili cheese fries. She makes a face. “Then again, I’m getting the unsettling feeling I’m going to throw up most of this before the night’s over.”

“That’s kind of the whole point,” Roy replies before crunching into a nacho, raising his brows. “Live a little, Queen,” he says, muffled between chewing.

Thea dips her finger in the tequila and flicks it at him just to watch him recoil away. “Chew with your mouth closed, Harper,” she retorts, “Besides, pretty sure crashing my birthday present while high on an illegal drug _is_ ‘living a little’.”

“I mean, if you’re into that kind of thing,” Roy teases, shoving another nacho into his mouth.

Joe snorts and takes another drink of vodka, pulling off with a sigh. “I haven’t had anything since Diggle’s.”

Both Thea and Roy’s eyebrows shoot up, looking over at him in unison. “You’re tougher than I gave you credit for,” Thea comments, taking a drink of the tequila and wincing after, swallowing.

“Yeah. Between your dad and her brother,” Roy gestures between the two of them. They both make a face at him at that and he shrugs, eyebrows rising again as if to say, ‘ _my point_ ’. Joe and Thea both take a pointed drink from their respective bottles instead of answering and Roy snorts, popping another nacho into his mouth before reaching for a bottle of his own. He gets the seal off and twists the cap open, holding the bottle out. “To not dying,” he toasts.

Thea holds out her own bottle and clinks it against his. “To reunions,” she adds softer, more seriously.

Joe looks at his bottle in thought for a long moment before finally holding it out too, glass _clinking_ against both of theirs. “To new allies.”

Thea and Roy both look over, Thea raising an unimpressed brow. “Pretty sure that’s called ‘friends’,” she says wryly.

Joe gives them both a look. “If you think we’re equals, I must have hit your heads too hard.”

“You haven’t gotten to hit mine yet, which makes your excuse moot,” Thea counters, smirking over at Roy, “Can’t say the same for him though.”

“Hey,” Roy replies, mock-offended. Thea and Roy laugh while Joe huffs a smaller, breathy one of his own, lips curling up as he looks between them. They all pull their bottles back and take a longer sip, all cringing as they pull their bottles away. “Trade?” Roy rasps a little, shuddering. They all look at each other before trading their bottles right. Roy takes a sip of Thea’s and cringes again, making a face. “Does this count as making out?” he asks after he swallows.

“What are you, twelve?” Thea retorts, taking another sip of vodka but she feels her cheeks warm a little.

Roy points at her. “You’re blushing, Queen.”

“It’s the alcohol, Harper,” she counters, glaring at him a little over the bottle. She glances over at Joe, who glances back, then looks away, cheeks warming further. “Shut up and drink.”

“Maybe we should play a game,” Joe proposes.

Thea and Roy both look over, Roy’s fingers pausing mid-reach for a chili cheese fry. “Did I hear him right?” Thea asks, looking over at Roy, “Did _Joe Wilson_ just suggest we play a _game?_ ”

“I think he’s drunk already,” Roy says mock-seriously.

Joe throws the vodka bottle cap at Roy’s head who ducks, tossing the tequila one back, Joe dodging easily. “I know how to have fun,” Joe defends.

“ _Prove it_ ,” Thea and Roy say in unison.

Joe looks between them before rolling his eyes. “Truth or drink.”

“Oh god,” Thea says.

Roy shrugs. “I’m game.”

“Of course you are,” Thea mutters before taking another sip.

“Like you’re not,” Roy returns, giving her a look.

Thea shrugs and cringes as she swallows the vodka, shuddering.

“Who’s the last person you killed?” Joe asks.

Thea and Roy’s eyes dart over. “You’re opening with that? Really?” Thea asks flatly. Joe just gives her a look, brows lowered, and she sighs. “No one, yet,” she answers quietly, frowning, “Your dad killed that boomerang guy.”

“Guy trying to rob the clinic my friend works at,” Roy answers after a beat, just as somber.

“Tiger guy from the island,” Joe answers his own question.

Thea and Roy look over at him again and then both raise an unimpressed brow. “Knew you didn’t know how to have fun,” Thea comments.

Joe gives her another look and then nods his head towards Roy. “Go.”

“Uhh…” Roy trails off in thought, trying to switch gears, “Last person you slept with?”

Thea makes a face, taking a drink and cringing. “Mike Armin,” she rasps.

Roy frowns at her. “But you answered.”

“Trust me, I needed it,” Thea sighs, dropping her head back for a minute.

“Her name was Alicia. Didn’t get a last name,” Joe answers, taking a drink himself.

“You are both cheating,” Roy points out, eyebrows rising.

“Said the guy who called himself a thief,” Thea points out, then literally points at him. She’s starting to look red in the face, and this time Roy believes it _is_ because of the alcohol. Though her and Joe are a few drinks up on him. “Answer,” she demands.

“I honestly don’t remember. It was like...two years ago,” Roy replies, taking a drink when Thea’s eyebrows rise. “Your turn, Queen.”

“Are we asking sex questions now?” she asks. Roy and Joe snort and she continues, “Alright. Favorite position?”

“Against a wall,” Joe answers.

“That one where they sit on you?” Roy answers, but trails up into a question, brows furrowed.

Thea snorts. “Which part?”

“Either,” Roy answers with a shrug.

Thea laughs and Joe even smirks a little. “Your turn,” she says, gesturing over at Joe, cheeks going a little redder when he sits back against the front of her couch, propping a knee up and resting the bottle between his thighs.

“If you could have one thing in the world, anything, what would it be?” Joe asks.

Roy groans, taking another drink. He’s starting to feel warm and fuzzy. He should probably eat something. He reaches for a funion and pops it in his mouth before pulling his hoodie zipper down and shrugging the whole thing off while Thea hums in thought. “You’re both so _angsty_ ,” Roy complains.

Thea huffs and shrugs. “I just wish my family was together again.”

Roy points at her accusingly. “ _See._ ”

She shrugs again while giving him a look. “What do _you_ want?”

“For you two to have some _fun_ ,” he gripes, taking a drink.

Joe looks between them, lips curled up a little. He drops his eyes to his bottle and rubs a thumb along the neck over the shiny, red and black label. “I don’t think I want my family together,” he answers after a minute, brows furrowing a little. His thoughts are starting to get sluggish. He takes another drink to help it along. “My parents didn’t exactly get along.”

Roy makes a vague sound with an equally vague gesture. “Dad left when I was two, mom died when I was ten. Can’t really relate.”

Thea’s brows draw up together in one of the most pitiful looks Roy’s seen aimed at him and he sighs, dropping his head back. “Stop with the-” he gestures at her without looking, “Face.” Something hits his neck and he drops his head down, searching. He picks up the funion and eats it while Thea huffs a quiet laugh. “Anyway. If you could makeout with anyone you haven’t yet, who would it be?” he asks, raising his brows as he looks between them, “Because we need to get out of this depressing shit. I’m either not drunk enough or _too_ drunk for it.”

Joe huffs while Thea looks down at her bottle in thought, brows furrowing low together. She looks between them and then over at Joe and sets her bottle aside, then actually crawls over, swaying a little, and leans forward, noses bumping as she all but falls into him for a kiss. Roy’s eyebrows jump up, then leap up a little further when after a moment’s pause, Joe _returns_ it, setting his bottle aside so it doesn’t end up all over his lap while he cards his other hand through the side of her curtain of hair.

Roy stares at them for a minute, trying to process through the fuzzy-warm feeling all over, then snorts past the sinking feeling in his chest. “Honestly, I feel like I should’ve seen this coming,” he says.

Thea and Joe pull back a little, both frowning over at him in identical confusion with equally red faces and Roy laughs at them. “Your brother and father?” he gets out. They both groan and make a face at him, reaching for Joe’s bottle at the same time. They have a brief round of tug-of-war with it before Joe finally wins and takes a long drink, then hands it to Thea for her turn.

“ _Really?_ ” Thea lets out on a sigh after she swallows and cringes, shuddering a little.

Roy shrugs, looking down at his own bottle, picking at the edge of the label with his thumbnail. He blinks when Joe moves closer in his periphery and looks up, freezing when Joe tugs him forward by the side of his neck and kisses _him_ , staring at Joe’s closed eyes. It’s a little messy, but it makes Roy’s toes curl in his shoes and feel even warmer all over.

“Oh,” Thea says, blinking.

Joe sits back after a minute and looks over, reaching for her with his other hand and pulling her into another kiss.

“ _Oh_ ,” Roy lets out on a breath, eyes darting between the two of them. They both pull back again and it takes Thea a moment to get her eyes open, looking a little dazed on top of the alcohol. “So…?” Roy trails off in question, glancing between them before finally settling on Joe.

“We’re not dating,” Joe says, holding up a finger and reaching for a bottle to take a drink from before setting it down again.

Thea and Roy look at each other and then they both snort, quickly escalating into _laughs_. “Who’d date you?” Thea gets out, slapping the rug as she bends over with it, “Mr. _Serious Face_.”

Roy snorts again mid-laugh and covers his mouth with a hand, near on _giggling_.

Joe makes a face at both of them and Thea and Roy gradually settle down, sharing another look before they both scoot closer, smirking at Joe almost in unison. Joe looks between them, then up at the ceiling before closing his eyes firmly for a moment. “I’m going to regret this,” he mutters.

Thea and Roy smirk wider. “Maybe in the morning,” Thea says, leaning forward to catch Joe’s mouth while Roy bends down and catches the edge of his jaw, Joe pulling in a breath as his hands come up.

“Pretty sure I _already_ regret this,” he manages to get out on a breathy groan.

\--

“ _Are they alright?_ ” Felicity asks in his ear.

Diggle snorts quietly, standing guard outside Thea’s bedroom. “Something like that,” he mumbles, pausing when he hears another, _louder groan_. He turns and starts making his way down the hall.

“ _Do I want to know?_ ” Felicity asks wryly.

“I’m sure you’ll find out later,” Diggle replies, just as wry, “Let’s just say it involves drunken escapades.”

“ _Oooh_ ,” Felicity returns, then pauses. “ _Wait, between who?_ ”

“Honestly? I think all three,” Diggle answers.

Felicity’s quiet for a few moments before it clicks and she lets out a longer, “ _ **Ooooh**_.”

\-----

Oliver keeps an eye on the apartment like he has for the past hour and a half, but finally, slowly lets himself slump out of his alert position, resting his elbows on his thighs. It’s been quiet, and the sound is muffled enough with the city noise and stone walls that he can’t hear anything going on in Laurel’s apartment, but he hasn’t seen anyone pass the windows in the past hour. Slade shifts to his right after a few more minutes and Oliver glances over, pausing when Slade pulls a couple protein bars out of his pant’s pockets and tosses one over, Oliver catching it and staring.

Slade opens his bar and takes a bite, glancing over as he chews. He raises a brow when Oliver just keeps staring at him and Oliver drags his eyes down, turning the bar over in his hands and looking it over. “It’s not poisoned,” Slade says, swallowing and taking another bite.

Oliver’s cheeks warm, just a little, and he looks away, opening the bar and tugging his bandana down below his chin. “It’s not that,” he mutters.

“Then what?” Slade asks, muffled around his chewing.

Oliver takes a bite out of the bar, glancing over briefly then away again. “Nothing,” he mutters. Slade doesn’t say anything, just hums a little, low and vague, but Oliver’s cheeks warm further anyway.

First, it was the concert, and now Slade’s bringing him food. It’s just-

“Is this…” Oliver blurts out after a minute after he swallows, keeping his eyes away from Slade’s, “Nothing.”

“ _Spit it out_ ,” Slade finally says, muffled again.

“It’s...embarrassing,” Oliver mutters, can practically feel Slade’s incredulous look burning a hole in the side of his face.

“Me bringing food?” Slade asks.

Oliver’s chest gives a squeeze while his cheeks warm and he takes a huge bite of his protein bar to give himself another minute, chewing slowly. He hears Slade huff a breath at him, something near a laugh, and eventually swallows his bite. “We’ve never really...been on a date,” Oliver mumbles.

It’s quiet for a minute and Oliver’s shoulders tense, then Slade snorts loudly, making Oliver’s eyes dart over. Slade raises a brow. “You want to go on a date?”

“I-” Oliver stops, frowning and looking away again. “No, it’s just…” Their entire relationship is unconventional, and nothing at all like what Oliver remembers relationships being. You hook up with someone, you date someone, you stay to do it again later or leave afterwards and probably never see them again. “We tried to kill each other,” Oliver explains after a minute, lips pressing together briefly, “And now we’re sitting across from my ex-girlfriend’s apartment keeping watch over her and my best friend.” He shrugs a shoulder a little, looking down at the half-eaten protein bar. “It’s not how I remember things going.”

It goes quiet again. Oliver takes another bite of his bar and chews, hears Slade crumple up his wrapper and shove it in a pocket.

“Neither one of us really fits into that category anymore, do we,” Slade says, drawing Oliver’s attention back while he swallows. Slade’s looking across at Laurel’s apartment, eye shifting to take in some of the rest of the city before finally looking over. “But I’ll take you out, if that’s what you want.”

Oliver stills, staring. His chest slowly goes as warm as his face and he looks away again, shoulders hunching up just a little. “You don’t have to.”

“Do you want to?” Slade asks.

Oliver’s lips press together as he thinks it over, looking back down at the last bite of his bar in thought. “I don’t know,” he answers slowly, “I don’t...I don’t know. It would be strange, wouldn’t it?”

“Because we’re both men, or because we’re both killers?” Slade asks.

Oliver looks over again, then back down at the bar. “Both, maybe,” he answers. He takes the last bite and chews, crumpling up the wrapper and shoving it in a pocket. He catches Slade shrugging a little out of the corner of his eye and looks over again, watches Slade lean back on the roof on a hand, looking at the apartment.

“Whatever you want to do,” Slade says, looking over after a moment, “Being both of those things doesn’t make a difference.”

Oliver watches him a moment, chest warming a little more. “You’d do that?” he asks quieter.

Slade shrugs again instead of answering, but it’s answer enough.

Oliver’s chest goes unbearably warm. He watches Slade for another minute, who watches him back, then slowly finds himself leaning over until their shoulders press together, dropping his eyes to the roof between them. Slade shifts and sits up again after a minute, then wraps the arm he was propping himself up with around Oliver’s waist and drags him closer. Oliver lowers his head and rests his cheek near Slade’s neck and Slade’s arm tightens a little around his waist. Oliver tries to breathe through the warm pressure in his chest, heart pounding in his ears.

It’s stupid, maybe, to think about things like ‘dating’ after- everything, and he’s not sure he even really wants to do anything like that, but the fact that Slade would do it for him, even though it would probably make him uncomfortable, that’s...that’s more than enough.

\-----

Tommy hesitates just past the doorway and turns back, Dinah smiling where she’s leaning against the edge of the door, holding it open. “Don’t worry, I’ll watch her while you’re gone,” she says, smiling a little more when Tommy’s cheeks go red. He nods, huffing a breath at himself.

“Anything in particular you think I should get?” he asks.

“Chocolate,” Dinah answers, raising a brow while her lips quirk up a little more, the first bit of humor she’s managed to feel since- finding out about what happened. “Expensive chocolate. And olives.”

Tommy’s eyebrows rise at the last. “Right,” he says, turning and starting down the hall for the elevator, “Expensive chocolate and olives.”

Dinah’s lips curl up a little more as she watches him go and then she closes the apartment door, locking it before heading back into the living room. She pauses and glances through to the half open bedroom door to her left, spots Laurel still laying on her bed, eyes open and staring across at the wall. Dinah’s heart squeezes in her chest and she reaches into her pocket, pulling her daughter’s cellphone out while she takes a breath. She hesitates, debates with herself for one more minute before she remembers her daughter curled up in her arms on the bathroom floor, crying her eyes out like it was- Sara all over again, and that makes the decision incredibly easy.

She keeps her steps quiet as she crosses into the hall, gently nudging her daughter’s door open a little further. “Laurel?” she calls softly. Laurel blinks, head slowly coming up from her pillow, then Laurel pushes herself up to sit while Dinah makes her way over, heart starting to pound in her chest. She holds Laurel’s phone tighter before loosening her grip and offering it over, taking a slow seat on the edge of the bed. “I found this on the floor,” Dinah says softly, “I saw the search results.”

Laurel stills, eyes shifting down and away before she takes the phone, setting it near her on the bed. “I was just looking into something,” Laurel says, so quiet and...miserable it breaks Dinah’s heart.

“I know, honey,” Dinah says, low and quiet.

Laurel stills again, then her eyes snap over. “‘Know’ what?” she asks.

Dinah’s heart beats harder and she takes a breath. “I _know_ ,” she repeats.

Laurel freezes, eyes slowly widening. She moves quickly then, so quick it makes Dinah jolt, Laurel’s hands gripping hers tight. “ _I didn’t mean to_ ,” Laurel lets out in a rush, frantic, and it makes Dinah’s chest ache. “ _I didn’t **mean to**_ ,” Laurel repeats, voice cracking as her eyes start to go red.

“Oh, honey, I know, I _know_ ,” Dinah reassures her, quick but gentle as she leans closer, stroking a hand down the side of her daughter’s hair. “But that’s not-...There’s something I’m going to tell you, and- god, you might hate me for it.”

Laurel pauses and slowly frowns, eyes searching hers. “What? Mom, what are you talking about?” she asks.

“The woman you’re looking for,” Dinah answers, brows drawing up together. She reaches forward and grips her daughter’s shoulder, feels how stiff it is under her hand and swallows. “Laurel, sweetheart, she’s _me_.”

Laurel stares at her a long minute before saying, “No,” and then jerking back, scrambling up off the bed, phone clattering to the floor again, “No. _No_. That’s _not_ -”

“Laurel-” Dinah starts, getting up, but stops when Laurel quickly moves back to the wall.

“ _No!_ ” Laurel lets out, eyes going wide as she immediately clamps her hands over her mouth. Dinah reaches for her but stops again when Laurel presses back against the wall, shaking her head fast.

“Sweetheart- _Sweetheart_ , you’re _okay_. That’s not how it works. You’re okay,” Dinah tries to reassure her, heart squeezing so tight in her chest.

Laurel shakes her head again, squeezing her eyes shut before opening them and _glaring_ at her. Then Laurel stills, eyes widening again as she searches her mother’s face, slowly lowering her hands a little. “Does dad-” she starts.

“ _No_ ,” Dinah answers quick and firm, brows drawing lower, “No, sweetheart, he doesn’t know. No one does. I didn’t tell anyone after I-...left.” Laurel stares at her again and Dinah tries to keep still, to not rush over to her. She looks- like a _trapped, frightened_ animal, as much as Dinah _**hates**_ it, running over will just make it worse.

Her daughter stares at her for what feels like an eternity before pulling in a ragged breath and letting it out in a shaky rush, searching her face for answers she isn’t asking. Then, slowly, eventually, _finally_ -

“You’re-... _you’re_ the Black Canary?” Laurel asks disbelievingly, hushed and almost a whisper like she’s afraid of the answer, or afraid of her own voice, both.

Dinah takes another, steadying breath before nodding. “Yes,” she answers.

Laurel sucks in another breath, eyes widening a little more before dropping to the floor. “I don’t believe this,” she mumbles to herself, staring sightlessly down at the rug, “This can’t be happening.”

Dinah opens her mouth- closes it, fingers curling tight. She tries to keep quiet, tries to let her daughter process it all. Saying too little won’t help, but neither will pushing by saying too _much_. Her daughter needs _time_. They have some to spare.

Laurel’s quiet for a while, looks everywhere but at her while she goes through everything, absorbs the new information, tries to fit it with what she already knows. Eventually her eyes wander back and Dinah stills, swallowing against the ache in her chest while she waits. She hasn’t felt this nervous since showing up in Laurel’s hospital room, Laurel looking at her for the first time in _five years_.

“Did-...did someone-... _do_ this to you, too?” Laurel slowly gets out, brows drawing sharply together.

Dinah shakes her head a little, long bangs swaying. “No,” she answers as calmly as she can, “I was born this way.”

“Then what happened to _me?_ ” Laurel lets out louder, eyes going frantic again as they search her for answers, “I know the explosion had something to do with it, but _how_ -...” she trails off.

Dinah waits until she’s sure Laurel’s finished before answering, “I don’t _know_ , sweetheart. The best I can figure is that the... _explosion_ maybe... _activated_ something _in you_ that came _from me_.”

Laurel’s quiet for a minute, processing that too, then her eyes go searching again, shrewd and scared all at once. “If Sara or I-” She has to stop, swallow. “If we ever showed signs of-...were you _ever_ going to tell us?”

Dinah pauses and has to swallow again too, fingers still curled tight as her brows draw up together. “If you did, yes,” she answers, throat starting to close as the backs of her eyes burn a little, “But if you didn’t?...No, I wouldn’t have told any of you. It was a part of my life I wanted to leave behind.”

Laurel stares at her a long moment before asking, “ _Why?_ ”

Dinah takes one more breath and then backs up, dropping to sit on the edge of the bed. “I enjoyed it, helping people, _stopping_ bad people, but...then I took a trip to Starling City for work...and I met your father.” She drops her eyes to the floor, lips curling up a little in memory. “He was just out of the academy then, starting as a Starling City policeman, bright, ambitious, and just so...radiant, _good_. He actually got on my nerves at first.” Dinah huffs a little laugh, low and quiet, smile fading as she looks back up at her daughter, watching her almost curiously but still tense and keeping her distance, hesitant and wary. _God_ , it hurts having Laurel look at her that way.

“We fell in love, and it- it didn’t _erase_ the anger I felt at all the injustice in New York, all the- bad, and there was _so much_ of it, but...it gave me something else _besides_ that, _besides_ the anger, and in the end, I wanted that more. I wanted your father, you and- Sara.” Dinah has to take another breath, closing her eyes firmly for a moment against that pain in her chest. “I wanted to be happy, not in the way I was living before, but in the way all of _you_ make me feel. So I quit and left, moved in with your father here, and the rest…” she trails off, because Laurel already knows the rest.

They watch each other for another minute, two, before Laurel finally moves, slowly, still like a frightened animal. She pauses to bend down to grab her phone before just as slowly taking a seat on the other end of the bed, as far away as she can get, eyes focused down on the sheets. Dinah’s chest gives a dull, hard ache as she watches her.

Laurel still doesn’t say anything for another couple minutes, then, quietly, finally looking up at her again as her brows lower, “This is your fault.”

It stabs through Dinah like a knife and she swallows hard, fingers curling tight again. She doesn’t say anything and after a minute of Laurel glaring at her, Laurel takes a slow, shaky breath, expression easing, just a tiny bit.

“It’s just...when I scream?” Laurel asks slowly.

“Yes,” Dinah jumps to answer, nodding, “The harder you scream, the more damage you do. Yelling and shouting won’t do anything.”

“What if-...” Laurel trails off, eyes dropping back to the sheets as her brows draw together, “What if I’m...different.” She looks up, searching her mother’s face almost desperately, looking so young and _scared_ , “What if I’m _more_ dangerous?”

“I’ll help you,” Dinah offers softly, brows drawing up again, “ _Please_ , Laurel, if you’ll let me?”

Laurel watches her for a long minute, shoulders tense again, and then she finally nods once, letting out a long, slow, shaky breath. Laurel’s own brows draw up. “I don’t want to- I don’t want to _kill anyone_.”

Dinah slowly offers her hand over and Laurel stills, leaning back a little, glancing from her to it, then back again. She slowly reaches for it after a minute, hesitantly taking it. Dinah curls her fingers around her daughter’s hand, holding it gently but securely and keeping eye contact.

“I _will_ help you, Laurel,” she states calm and clear, and her daughter’s shoulders finally drop out of their rigid position, eyes going red again as the last of the anger melts away. Dinah gives her daughter’s hand a squeeze and Laurel slowly squeezes hers back even harder. “You’ll be _fine_ , I _promise_.”

Laurel sucks in a ragged breath, tears building until they finally spill over and she collapses forward, Dinah catching her and wrapping her up in a tight hug like she had in the bathroom, holding her daughter through it as she shakes apart one more time.

“You’re not _alone_ , sweetheart, I _**promise**_ ,” Dinah whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she squeezes her eyes shut, heart breaking and mending all at once as Laurel holds onto her tighter. It’s not perfect, and their relationship is still in tatters, but-

She holds onto Laurel tight as her daughter cries and presses another kiss to her head.

No matter _what_ , she won’t let her daughter go through it like she did, she won’t let Laurel be terrified and _alone_.

 _Now_ , Dinah thinks after a minute, opening her eyes and looking determinedly across at the wall, brows lowering, they just need to find _Sara_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is a hot mess


	42. Things change and stay the same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh if this was an abo au. It almost was

Slade nudges between his shoulder blades and Oliver shifts forward, gripping the headboard harder in both hands, fingers curling tighter around the rough, cheap wood. He pants as Slade’s two fingers rock inside him, can feel a light sweat starting to cover his skin.

They’ve been at this for the past half hour, almost from the start of getting back to the hotel from Slade finally dragging him away from Laurel’s.

Slade never changes the pace, hasn’t once since they started, just rocks his calloused fingers in and out, the slide smooth and slick with lube. Oliver’s been half hard for the past twenty minutes, and it’s been getting harder to think past the growing, hot haze in his head, the arousal, the growing _want_ and _need_ that builds higher the longer Slade thrusts his fingers and bites the occasional kiss along the lengths of his shoulders, down his spine, but maybe that’s the whole point-

Slade presses unerringly down on his prostate and Oliver’s back jerks into an arch as his head drops back with a sharp moan, cock hardening the rest of the way. Slade’s other hand grips his hip tighter while his fingers start rocking again, steadily thrusting in and out of him before pressing down again and Oliver sucks in a sharper breath, gripping the headboard tight as he moans roughly. Slade’s other hand slides around from his hip, slides up his side and around and then drags down his chest, pauses over where he was stabbed before continuing down over his stomach, blunt nails digging in just enough to make Oliver shudder, and then drag frustratingly around his cock, down past his balls to press two fingers hard up behind them. Oliver sucks in another breath as the pleasure- _doubles_ , moan going harder and louder as the pleasure fogs his head, makes everything warm and hazy.

Slade’s fingers press relentlessly while Oliver pants faster as the pleasure builds, fingers curling tight around the headboard while his cock leaks, feels the precum slide down the length, down over his balls to Slade’s wrist where their skin meets. The bed shifts a little behind him and then Slade’s broad chest presses warm along his back, teeth biting into his shoulder before rough kisses trail slowly up to the side of his neck and Oliver lets his head tilt to the side, pleasure building hard and quick as Slade’s fingers rub _harder_ , inside _and_ out, Slade working on sucking a bruise into his skin. Oliver moans louder, hips jerking a little where he’s caught between Slade’s hands and chest as he grips the headboard tighter. The pleasure is a constant, unending thing, except Oliver can feel the cliff coming and he can’t help rocking his hips to try and get to it faster, chasing the pleasure to the end, breathing picking up until he can hear himself panting like he’s run miles-

Slade keeps _rubbing_ and Oliver finally comes with a half-shout, is vaguely aware of the headboard snapping in his hands, scrambling for purchase on the unbroken parts until he finds them. Slade keeps thrusting his fingers through it, spreads them apart to help open him up when Oliver’s body starts going loose, unwinding from the crest of the high.

And then Slade’s fingers pull out and disappear, the hand below his balls sliding up before that arm wraps around his waist, pulling him back and away from the headboard. Oliver goes down with Slade easy, like a ragdoll, back rolling out all along Slade’s front and legs splaying open as he tries to catch his breath. He feels the blunt head of Slade’s cock press at his entrance and groans faintly, feels it _push_ and finally, _slowly_ slide in and groans harder. Slade’s hands grip the undersides of his thighs and pull them up, apart, spread them open as he starts thrusting, hips rolling against Oliver’s ass and cock hitting his prostate first thing, over and over and _over_.

Oliver shudders hard with a loud, rough moan, _cold-hot_ all over from overstimulation while his fingers scrabble at and curl in the sheets, head falling back over Slade’s shoulder and lolling to the side. Slade’s hips snap up harder, faster, fucks him like he thinks Oliver’s going to disappear again between one phone call and the next and too many miles, after a look across the tarmac before he’s heading into an extravagant cage, and Oliver lets him, reaches a hand back to try and grip at Slade’s hair as he pants hard, Slade’s hips snapping against him even harder, hard enough Oliver can _hear_ it even over his pounding heart.

He can feel another orgasm already approaching in the way the overstimulation slithers up his spine, freezing cold before leaving hot heat in its wake, in the way his hips start arching down, both seeking it and wanting to shy away from the _too much too fast_. Slade growls against his skin, bites the spot between his neck and shoulder and Oliver’s back arches more while Slade’s grip on his thighs goes bruisingly tight, Slade’s balls slapping against his skin as he picks up the pace even further-

The pleasure _spikes_ like a landslide and Oliver comes again with a shout, feels his cum hit his stomach as his body tenses tight and vaguely hears Slade growl below his ear as he fucks him through it, then follows him over after another thirty seconds, _feels_ it.

Slade’s hips don’t stop, don’t even slow down after the sharp jerk against his ass as Slade comes and Oliver grips at Slade’s hair harder, other hand scrambling until he finds Slade’s arm and grips it _tight_. He pants, loud and hard, thinks he makes noise but he can’t tell anymore over the- _everything, all over, so much of it_ , nothing he can put words to, Slade pushing his body in a way he’s never been pushed before, not like this. The pain-pleasure just keeps _going_ with every thrust of Slade’s cock, every brush across his prostate, doesn’t really end but doesn’t quite build either. It’s just _freezerburn_ all over, enough to make Oliver shudder, his teeth almost chatter, his breathing out of control while his heart pounds hard and fast in his chest, his ears, and sounds come out of his mouth he can’t make sense of because the world is _hazy_ and _hot_ and all he can do is _feel it_ -

Slade’s teeth dig hard into his neck again and Oliver jerks at the added stimulation, Slade’s rough growl and panting loud enough Oliver can just hear it over his own body, over the sounds of their skin meeting, and then Oliver comes again without warning, back arching sharply against Slade. He thinks he screams, or maybe he doesn’t make any sound at all, mouth dropped open and eyes squeezed shut tight as he jerks sharply with the orgasm, cum drizzling out the head of his cock to his stomach, sliding down his skin to his side. Slade’s hands grip his thighs so tight it _hurts_ and then Slade finally comes again too, finally slows _down_.

Slade rolls them before Oliver can get his thoughts working again and Oliver’s cheek, chest, and stomach hit the bed, hands coming up near his face to grip the sheets. Slade’s cock stays in him, keeps thrusting, but it’s slower, slow and steady and _deep_ and no longer hitting his prostate, just- _fucking_ him while Oliver pants hard against the sheets, hot breath buffeting back into his face. Slade shifts and then one of his hands slides up between Oliver’s shoulder blades, presses him to the bed, keeps going up the back of his neck and Oliver shudders lightly, feels Slade’s fingers card through and push his hair up out of the way. Then Slade lowers and presses down all along his back, covering him in his _heat_ and _weight_. Hot panting breaths hit the back of Oliver’s neck before teeth do, dig into his skin right over the line of his tattoo before Slade starts trying to suck a bruise over it.

Oliver shudders harder with a weaker moan, spreads his knees across the sheets as Slade keeps rolling his hips, cock working so deep in and out of him it’s mind numbing, hips pressed flush against his ass. The hand still in his hair grips it while Slade growls a low, rough moan against his skin and Oliver gets lost in the sensations, the heat in his head, along his back, _all over_ , the mouth and breath and teeth on the back of his neck, the fingers gripping his hair and Slade’s cock thrusting steady and deep inside, so smooth and easy and- _wet_ , Oliver can hear it, warmth flooding his face. His cock gives a faint twitch despite the orgasms and Slade’s other hand comes up, settles over his on the bed before slipping rough, worn fingers between his and gripping. Oliver’s fingers slowly curl too, gripping back as much as he can while he just- breathes, _pants_ , words and the world both far away things.

The rhythmic roll of Slade’s hips is lulling, the smooth, wet slide of his cock makes the heat in Oliver’s head hazier, warmer, makes the world fuzzy and blurred in ways Oliver’s not used to. He’s felt something similar when _he_ was fucking someone, but never- This is different, it goes down deeper to a place he doesn’t know and doesn’t- really want to leave. He doesn’t think about anything, not Laurel, not Ra’s or the island, not his friends and family or the cursed sword he has to deal with. He just thinks about the way it all-... _feels_ : Slade’s hot body rolling against his, the wet sounds they make, of the hand gripping his on the sheets and the one in his hair, of the teeth and tongue and lips on the back of his neck, worrying at his skin, trying to leave a mark over the one someone else already left. Those teeth finally shift to the side of the tattoo but then start making another bruise all over again and Oliver shudders, fingers curling tighter against Slade’s.

“Finally stopped thinking, didn’t you,” Slade rumbles low and rough against his skin between panting breaths, Oliver can feel the vibration of it against his back where Slade’s chest is pressed, can almost feel the hard pound of Slade’s heart beating between his own shoulder blades through it.

Oliver cracks his eyes open, lips parted and vision swimming and hazy. He slowly looks back, or tries to. Slade’s mouth lets go of his skin and then Oliver can see him, almost; he’s mostly fuzzy slabs of color. Slade gives his hand a squeeze and the colors that make him up lean down closer, a mouth pressing hot to the corner of his. Oliver tries to return the kiss but he’s still panting and uncoordinated, loose limbed and drifting. Slade’s lips drag up to his cheekbone, higher and Oliver lets his eyes close, feels them skim to his temple and into his hair before disappearing. They land on his shoulder next, chapped and rough against his skin, stubble brushing as Slade mouths at his shoulder, drags his teeth over it. Oliver shudders again with a faint sound, fingers squeezing Slade’s briefly.

He feels...not...kept, not owned, but at the same time like he is, like he doesn’t have to think about anything, worry about anything, _can’t_ and doesn’t _want to_. He can’t think about it in words, but the feeling makes his chest warm, _ache_ almost, and his hips arch back a little more. Slade’s calloused hand slowly slides out of his hair, down over his shoulder and the length of his side, fingertips skimming the sheets. Then it reaches and slides over his hip, down between Oliver and the bed and finds and wraps around his cock. Oliver’s hips give a faint jerk as he sucks in a breath with a faint moan, almost a whine because it’s _so much_.

“I’ve got you,” Slade whispers near his ear, not soft, not gentle, but _sure_ , and Oliver relaxes without even thinking about it... _trusts_ him to. Slade’s hand slides up his cock a bit and Oliver groans raggedly, half muffled into the sheets. Slade’s finger presses just under the head, not roughly, but _there_ and Oliver _shudders_ hard on a higher moan, voice hoarse. He thinks he feels his cock leak, but he can’t be sure, clenches down around Slade’s still rocking in and out of him but it does nothing to stop it, too open and wet with the lube and Slade’s cum to cause any friction. Slade’s finger just-...rubs below the head of his cock, almost gently, and the pleasure tingles up Oliver’s spine, makes him grip at Slade’s fingers harder as his brows draw up on a louder, ragged moan.

Slade keeps rubbing, as slow and steady as the pace of his hips, hot breaths panting against his skin as Slade mouths kisses across his shoulder and Oliver just keeps moaning, spreads his legs open a little wider and gets lost in the pleasure, the haze, Slade’s hot breath and warmth pressing him to the bed, his cock and his _hand_. He pants, mouth open and eyes shut, and then the pleasure- _crests_ , not hard or quick, but sudden and- _good_ and Oliver _shudders_ with it as he moans a little louder, body giving a little jerk against Slade’s beneath him as he comes, the orgasm nearly _wrenched_ out of him. Slade’s finger stops after a moment, two, and then his hand slips away, arm sliding around his waist and holding him as Slade’s hips snap a little harder, still not hitting his prostate, but fucking him all the same. Oliver doesn’t really want him to stop, doesn’t want the mind numbing feeling to go away.

Slade keeps thrusting for a minute, then comes with jerk against him and quieter growl, hips snapping harder until they still briefly, then start thrusting through it again, through Slade’s orgasm and the mess he’s already made inside. Oliver can feel Slade’s cum pushing out around his softening cock as Slade keeps fucking him through it, can feel it sliding down his skin, between his cheeks to his balls, the bed. It makes his face hotter than it already is and his fingers curl again, still trying to catch his breath. Slade presses open mouthed kisses to the back of his neck just below his hairline and keeps thrusting for a few more moments before his hips finally, _finally_ slow to a stop, a blessing and a curse. More weight eases down along Oliver’s back, presses him further into the bed as Slade pants into the back of his hair, trying to catch his own breath.

Oliver doesn’t meant to, but he drifts further after a minute, gets tugged down with the warm haze, words and thoughts still far, far away, and...He falls asleep, like that, fucked out with Slade’s cock still deep inside and...Safe, that’s what the feeling was, is, he feels _safe_.

\-----

Oliver stirs after- he doesn’t know how long, doesn’t care, turns his head a little before finally managing to drag his eyes open enough to blink them a few times before he yawns hard enough he ends up in a stretch, arms coming up and back arching-

He hears steps and jerks up, eyes snapping open and alert, but stills when he finds Slade over by the hotel room table, rifling - naked? No, he’s wearing pants - through his bag. Oliver blinks slowly through the wispy bangs hanging in his face, slowly panning his eyes up Slade’s broad back only to find Slade’s head turned and eyes on him. Slade snorts, lips curling up. Oliver frowns a little and Slade’s tiny smile turns into a smirk. Oliver frowns more and lowers his gaze down the length of Slade again, then back up.

“Why are you wearing pants,” he says more than asks, voice a rough croak.

Slade snorts again and zips his bag up. “Because I took a shower and didn’t feel like having my dick hanging out.”

Oliver stares at him for a long moment before dropping back down to the bed with a _thump_ , bangs flying up then settling back over his face. Slade’s steps move closer and then Oliver hears clothing shifting, followed by a soft _thump_ to the floor before the bed dips. Oliver stares a little blurrily up at the ceiling, nagging thoughts starting to surface again. “I need to check on Laurel,” he says, but doesn’t move.

“No,” Slade replies, coming to a stop over him, hands and knees either side of his shoulders and hips.

Oliver shifts his eyes from the ceiling over to Slade’s, raising a brow a little. “‘No’?”

“Smoak is keeping tabs on her,” Slade replies, bending down enough to mouth at the corner of his mouth.

Oliver frowns a little, huffing a breath when Slade nips at him. “But-”

“No,” Slade repeats, covering Oliver’s mouth with his own. “Shut up,” Slade adds quiet and muffled between kisses.

Oliver slowly returns them, eyes sliding shut as he leans up into them a little. Slade breaks them after a minute and shifts down, pushing Oliver’s legs apart so he can settle between them. He doesn’t say or do anything except go straight for Oliver’s cock, one hand wrapping around it while he bends down and tongues at the slit, then sucks the head into his mouth without ceremony. Oliver’s eyes slam shut as he pushes his head back into the pillow on a low groan, hands finding Slade’s head. “ _Slade_ ,” he moans, drawing his knees up to get his feet on the bed, sheets still a mess.

Slade just keeps sucking, slides his mouth further down the length and Oliver groans low in his throat as the pleasure shudders up his spine, makes his toes curl against the sheets.

“ _Slade_ ,” Oliver pants again.

Slade pulls his mouth off and then drags his tongue up the length from base to tip. Oliver feels eyes on him and lowers his head, looking down, finds Slade’s gaze focused and intent. Oliver’s fingers curl a little against his wild hair.

“Stop thinking,” Slade orders.

“I already did last night,” Oliver returns.

“Do it again,” Slade says before dropping his head and sucking Oliver’s cock back into his mouth. Oliver’s head drops back to the pillow on another moan, fingers curling tight.

It’s a lot easier to when Slade does _that_.

\-----

“Is _everyone_ calling in tonight?” Felicity asks as she puts a banana in her blender, eyeing the strawberries. They _should_ still be good.

“ _Seems so_ ,” Diggle answers in her bluetooth, “ _Harper and Joe left the mansion earlier this afternoon. I saw Thea come out of her room once to grab some food before disappearing back into her room again, looking like something the cat drug in_.”

Felicity huffs, checking over the strawberries in their little clear plastic container, turning a few over. “Laurel called in from work for the week and went to visit her dad with her mom and Tommy this morning and have been there all day,” she reports, “I already sent a text to Wilson’s phone since he’s not picking up.” At least she got a text _back_ , even if it was just an ‘ _ok_ ’. She’s not sure she wants to know why he’s too occupied to pick up the phone, even though her mind is already throwing up another round of visual suggestions. She gives her head a hard shake and pulls the green off the ends of the strawberries, tossing a few in her blender.

“ _How’s Shado and her dad doing?_ ” Diggle asks, thankfully drawing Felicity out of her thoughts.

“They’re alright,” she answers quieter, looking back over her shoulder into her living room. She can see the back of Shado’s head, but not her father’s. He’s probably still lurking on the end of the couch. Or, well, not lurking, but he seems to stick to the perimeter of any room he’s in as much as possible, like he’s watching and waiting for a threat. Shado gives him space, but tries not to leave him completely alone.

Felicity looks back to her smoothie in progress and closes the strawberry container, putting it back in the fridge before adding some ice and milk into the mix.

“Hold on,” she says, putting the lid on her blender before picking it and the cord up and heading out of the kitchen, past the back of the couch and into her bedroom. She nudges the door shut with her hip, then heads over and sets her blender on her nightstand, plugging it in and holding the lid down. “It’s going to get loud for a few seconds,” she warns.

“ _Ready_ ,” Diggle returns.

Felicity turns the blender on, wincing at the sound and glancing back towards her bedroom door. She looks forward again, watches the fruit and ice swirl up with the milk and turn pink. She lets go of the button after a few more seconds and then reaches over to unplug the blender, getting her bedroom door open and carrying the whole thing back into her kitchen. She glimpses Shado’s eyes following her and catches her little smile, Felicity’s cheeks warming a little as she smiles back as she passes. She sets the blender back on the counter and pulls the lid off.

“Do you mind if we wait on going to dinner until after everything’s settled down?” Felicity asks as she pours her smoothie, pausing and setting it aside. She heads back out into the living room and offers the glass over to Shado, already watching her again. Shado blinks and takes it with another little smile and a mouthed, ‘ _thank you_ ’. Felicity smiles before looking over at Yao Fei, who’s got his eyes closed, looking almost...meditative? Felicity looks back to Shado and tilts her head in question, then nods at the glass and raises a brow. Shado shakes her head a little with another smile and Felicity returns it, heading back into the kitchen.

“ _Works for me_ ,” Diggle answers, drawing Felicity’s attention back. “ _If Queen’s estimate was correct, we should be hearing from the contact soon_ ,” he adds vaguely.

“Just a couple more days,” Felicity confirms, then sighs quietly, looking over at her blender. She reaches up into her cupboard for another cup after a minute, frowning a little to herself. “I’m going to miss them, is that weird? Wilson’s been mostly... _Wilson_ , and Oliver’s been one of the scariest, broodiest people I’ve ever met, but I still…” she trails off, setting her glass down on the counter but stopping there, brows drawing together.

“ _I don’t think I’ll miss them, but I will admit I’ve gotten used to them being here. We’ll have to adjust to doing everything without them_ ,” Diggle says, “ _But Joe might be sticking around, and we still have Harper_.”

Felicity nods even though Diggle can’t see her and finally pours herself a smoothie with the last of what’s in the blender, nudging the blender towards the sink to take care of later before taking a sip. She turns and leans back against her counter, looking into the living room as she takes another sip, catching sight of Shado taking a sip too.

Felicity’s going to miss her too. Shado said they’d meet again, but just to be sure…

“Skype works in China, right?” Felicity wonders aloud.

Diggle gives a thoughtful hum. “ _You know, I’m not sure_.”

\-----

The next time Oliver stirs it’s because of a muffled, buzzing sound. The bed shifts beneath him and he cracks his eyes open in time to watch Slade rolling onto his back and offering Oliver’s burner phone over. Oliver takes it, blinking his vision clearer to read the ‘ _Unknown_ ’ caller I.D. before pulling the phone open and lowering it to his ear.

“ _It’s done_ ,” Sara says, and Oliver focuses, slowly pushing himself up on his other hand, some of his hair sliding back over his shoulder, “ _Yao Fei can return to China under his own name. Nyssa pulled some strings and got him cleared with the Chinese government. They won’t bother him or his family again_.”

Oliver stills for a few moments, processing, then lets out a slow breath, eyes falling shut. “Thank you,” he says quietly. He hears Sara take a breath.

“ _It’s the least we could do_ ,” she returns softer.

They’re both quiet for a few moments before Oliver takes his own breath, opening his eyes. “I need to tell you something,” he makes himself start, “About your father, and Laurel.”

“ _What is it?_ ” Sara asks sharper, more urgent, “ _Ollie, what happened?_ ”

“Your father was shot. He’s fine,” Oliver answers, “But Laurel has...powers now.”

“ _ **What?**_ ” Sara asks incredulously, then more seriously, “ _How?_ ” because she’s seen some of what Ra’s showed him, was told, she knows the world is bigger than people like to believe.

“I don’t know,” Oliver answers, “She was in Central City when-”

“ _-the accelerator went off_ ,” Sara finishes for him, tone going analytical beneath the urgency, “ _The League has been monitoring it_.”

They’re quiet for a minute, and then Oliver says, “Slade and I are leaving tomorrow.”

He hears Sara take another breath, let out it out in a small rush. “ _I’ll take care of it_ ,” she returns.

Oliver frowns a little, looking over towards his phone. “You may need to talk to them. Your mother is here, too.”

Sara’s quiet for a long beat of silence, then, “ _...I’ll take care of it…Thank you, for telling me, and looking after them. I know, I...I caused a lot of problems for you, partly because I-.._.”

 _Refused to talk to them_ , she doesn’t say, but Oliver hears it anyway. Even if it did make things difficult at the time, he did understand Sara’s reasons for wanting to keep her being alive a secret. They’re not far from what his own reasons were.

Oliver feels a weighted gaze on him and looks down and over to find Slade watching him, one arm bent above his head at the top of his pillow.

“ _Are you going to be alright?_ ” Sara asks, drawing some of his attention back.

“I think so,” Oliver answers slowly, keeping his eyes on Slade’s, “Are you?”

Sara huffs a breath, something near a laugh. “ _I think so_ ,” she parrots, “ _I guess it’s...time to talk to them_.”

Oliver’s lips twitch up, smiling a little when Slade raises an eyebrow back. “Goodbye, Sara,” he says.

“ _‘Till we meet again, more like_ ,” Sara returns a little wryly before the line disconnects.

Oliver lowers the phone and ends the call, flipping the phone shut.

“She finally pull her head out of her ass, too?” Slade asks dryly, voice low and sleep rough.

Oliver bends forward over him to drop his phone over the side of the bed, hears it land on their discarded clothes, then braces his hand on the mattress next to Slade’s ribcage and leans down low, kissing him slowly as his hair slides forward over his shoulder again, curtaining them. Slade slides a hand up through it and pushes it back as he returns the kiss, stubble scratching against the corners of Oliver’s mouth and against his chin.

“Something like that,” Oliver mutters between kisses. Slade’s grip tightens in his hair and pulls him the rest of the way down, and Oliver goes, the weight of...having to watch after Laurel finally lifting enough that he can do it without feeling guilty.

\-----

Laurel presses her lips hard together as they leave the hospital, stopping at her car to look back. She makes herself open the driver’s side door and get in, listening to her mother get in the passenger side and close the door behind her. Laurel takes a breath past the pressure in her chest, the _guilt_. “We should tell him,” she finally says, fingers curling in her lap. She looks over and meets her mother’s eyes. “About you. We need to tell him.”

“Laurel-” her mother starts, brows drawing down together.

“I can’t lie to him,” Laurel cuts her off, shaking her head as her own brows lower, “I _can’t_ , and I don’t want to.”

Her father slept for most of the visit, but he was awake for a little bit of it, enough to quietly reassure Laurel they’d find the ‘Canary woman’ and...figure out what happened to her voice. He’d fallen back asleep before Laurel could form a response, and maybe that was fine for now, but it can’t last, and she _doesn’t_ want to lie to him.

“After you left,” Laurel starts, and her mother’s expression tightens. Laurel’s heart beats harder in her chest but she makes herself continue. “It was just dad and me, for five years. We had each other and we had no lies between us. I don’t- I can’t break that.” She turns and leans towards her mother, taking up her hands and gripping them firmly, her mother’s eyes searching hers, Laurel’s own pleading back. “I get why you didn’t tell him before, and I-...I understand how hard it is to now, but...he knows about me, and he wants to help. I know he’ll be mad at first, but-...” She takes a breath and lets her expression harden with her resolve. “If we’re going to do this, you teaching me, he _needs_ to know. I won’t do it without bringing dad in.”

Her mother searches her face for another, longer moment before looking away, down at the dashboard and then ahead out the windshield. She doesn’t pull her hands away and Laurel tries to take that as a good sign, tries not to grip them tight with the fear that her mother will pull away, disappear out of their lives again almost as quickly as she came back in.

“ _Please_ ,” Laurel whispers, _begs_ , finally letting her grip tighten a little. Her mother’s eyes dart back. “Mom.”

Her mother takes a long breath and then lets it out slowly, looking almost...worried, nervous? Scared, as much as Laurel is. “He won’t take it well,” her mother finally says quietly.

“I know,” Laurel replies softer, rubbing her thumbs over her mother’s knuckles, “But I think he needs to know.”

Her mother searches her eyes for a moment before taking another breath and nodding slowly, shifting her hands in Laurel’s grip to hold onto them. “I hope you’re right.”

Laurel’s lips pinch but she nods and tries to ignore the doubt that buds in her chest. Her father will be- maybe furious, incredulous, but she thinks, eventually, he’ll...come around, hopefully, like Laurel did. If not...She’ll worry about that later.

She takes her own breath and lets it out in a rush, sitting back a little but not letting go. She drops her eyes to the center console while she thinks, then huffs a cynical, barely-there sound. “I need to quit the vigilante case,” she says quietly, resignedly. She glances up at her mother. “How am I supposed to keep trying to prosecute Starling City’s vigilantes when my mother used to be one?”

Her mother’s lips twitch even as her brows lower again. “These aren’t vigilantes,” she says, firm and quiet, “From the reports I’ve seen, they’re more like assassins.”

Laurel stills, thinks of-

“Like... _Sara_ might be?” she asks.

Her mother stills too, eyes widening. “Do you think that’s where your father-?”

Laurel freezes, her own eyes widening as her mind races. “That’d...that’d make sense,” she says slowly, “Dad said he got the information from a ‘he’, but refused to say who.” She focuses back on her mother. “If he did get that information from one of the vigilantes, it’d make sense why he didn’t just tell us.”

“But which one?” her mother asks, brows furrowing as her grip tightens on Laurel’s hands, “And how do we find them?”

Laurel pauses again, an idea, a small chance coming to mind. “I think...I might know how.”

\-----

Thea drags her head up when she hears the study door open and squints a little over towards the doorway, taking a breath through the dull ache still pounding in her head as Laurel steps in, quietly closing the door behind her. “Hey,” Thea croaks, wincing at the sound of her own voice before lowering her head back to her hand where her elbow’s braced on the couch armrest, rubbing at her forehead.

“Hey,” Laurel returns, stopping five feet away and studying her, brows slowly drawing together before rising. “Rough night?”

Thea huffs quietly, eyes closing for a minute. “Something like that,” she answers, lips curling up in memory despite herself. She gets her eyes back open and lifts her head, looking up. “I’m surprised you wanted to talk.”

“I have something I need to ask you,” Laurel jumps right in, walking the rest of the way and taking a seat in the middle of the couch. Thea turns so her back is to the armrest, pulling a knee up. She raises a brow and Laurel continues. “It’s about the vigilantes, and-...my sister.”

“Sara?” Thea aks quietly, and Laurel nods, lips pressing together. Thea’s expression tightens a little.

 _Shit_ , she thinks.

“My dad, he-...he was told by someone that Sara might...still be alive,” Laurel continues, and Thea stills, heart beating faster. Laurel leans forward a little, eyes intent on hers. “And that she might be an assassin. The vigilantes are a lot like assassins, so I thought, maybe one of them-” Laurel stops and takes a breath, eyes dropping. “It sounds like a leap now that I’m actually here asking,” she says, looking back up at Thea, “But _do you_ know if either of the vigilantes have had contact with my father?”

Thea watches Laurel, thoughts blank and stuck, the burner phone a weight in her pocket.

“I know it’s been quiet,” Laurel continues while Thea tries to think, figure out how to handle this, “But that doesn’t necessarily mean that they’ve left the city.”

“I-” Thea starts, stops, swallows, trying to keep still under Laurel’s scrutiny. She takes a steadying breath that doesn’t do much to calm her down and slowly reaches down, Laurel’s eyes following and widening before narrowing when Thea pulls the phone out. Thea flips it open and finally drags her eyes away, hitting speed dial and raising it to her ear. The line rings once, twice-

It _clicks_ and she takes another breath.

“My friend Laurel is here asking about her sister, Sara,” Thea starts after a beat, not sure who’s picked up since Wilson and Ollie have both been M.I.A. for the past day, “Do you know anything about that?” She hears a sigh that sounds like Wilson before there’s some quiet shifting, then-

“ _Put Laurel on the phone_ ,” her brother says, and Thea takes another breath.

“Are you sure?” she asks quieter, eyes locked with Laurel’s as Laurel leans a little closer, gaze intent again, searching.

“ _Yes_ ,” Ollie answers. Thea still hesitates and hears Ollie take a breath. “ _It’s okay, Thea,_ ” he reassures softer.

Thea frowns but slowly pulls the phone away, just as slowly offering it over. “He wants to talk to you,” she says quietly.

Laurel stills and looks over at the phone, slowly reaching up, taking it, and bringing it to her ear. “Hello?” she asks, eyes darting to Thea’s.

“ _Your sister will be in Starling City within seventy-two hours_ ,” a deep, rough voice says in her ear.

Laurel straightens, gripping the phone tighter as her brows draw lower. “How do I know you’re not lying? Which vigilante is this?” The voice sounds almost...familiar, but it’s different enough it doesn’t-

“ _Wraith_ ,” Wraith answers, “ _I have no reason to. I’m leaving Starling tomorrow_.”

Laurel stills, thoughts going a mile a second again. “Sara’s...my sister’s really-?”

“ _She won’t be like you remember_ ,” Wraith warns quieter.

Laurel sucks in a breath, hand coming up to cover her mouth as her eyes sting. She wasn’t- she’s still not fully letting herself _hope_ because she can’t go down that path unless she has proof, but if Sara is- Could she really be-?

“Wait,” Laurel says quickly, lowering her hand, “There was another person on the boat she shipwrecked on, Oliver Queen, do you know what happened to- If he survived?”

The silence lingers for a moment, two, Laurel’s heart pounding hard in her chest, her ears, gaze unfocused as she listens intently, waiting, _waiting_ -

“ _I only know of Sara Lance_ ,” Wraith answers, and Laurel freezes. The line _clicks_ closed and she stares down at the couch cushions, slowly lowering the phone after a minute. It wriggles out of her loose grip and her eyes dart up, watches Thea sit back, worried eyes watching her.

“Are you-...It’s stupid to ask, isn’t it,” Thea says quietly.

Laurel stares at her for a long minute and then finally manages to get her lungs working again, letting out the breath she was holding in a rush. It’s quiet for a beat, two, three, and then she finally manages to ask, “Did you know about Sara?” still watching Thea.

Thea stares back, then shakes her head. “I didn’t know,” she answers. _Does_ she know? Yes, but _did_ she? No.

 _This must be how my family did it_ , Thea thinks, told lies. They’re not complete lies, they’re just not complete truths, either.

Laurel pulls in another breath, blinking her eyes quickly as she looks away. She wipes at her face with a hand, rims of her eyes red. Her gaze slowly draws back to the phone, then up to Thea. “That phone,” she says.

Thea’s grip tightens around it and she takes a breath. “Is getting destroyed as soon as you leave,” Thea returns.

Laurel’s brows angle up a little but she huffs a breath, almost a laugh.

Thea’s lips twitch even as her own brows draw up. Ollie hasn’t left yet, she still has time to get a new phone from him or Wilson, hopefully. But she can’t let Laurel think she still has this one.

“They’re leaving,” Laurel says quietly, looking across at the bookshelves lining the far wall. She wipes at her eyes. “Sara’s-...” she trails off, then her eyes dart over after a minute. “I’m sorry, about Ollie.”

Thea closes her eyes, lets herself live in that pain for a minute, make her reaction believable. It isn’t really a lie, either. Ollie’s leaving, and that...hurts. Even if she can see him again, it _shouldn’t_ be for a while, until things settle down and Laurel moves on to something else, and even with Ollie’s promise to come whenever she calls…

Thea tightens her grip on the phone.

She can’t bring him back to the city that soon, so it’s on her to try and keep some distance between them until it’s safe, or until she can go visit him wherever he ends up. Even with the Glades in shambles, using it as an excuse won’t work anymore for her missing her community service work with C.N.R.I. She’s stuck for a while.

She opens her eyes after a moment and looks down at the phone, then back up to Laurel, lips curling up a little as her brows draw together. “I hope you can see Sara again,” she says soft and quiet.

Laurel takes a shaky breath, looking away.

They sit in quiet for a minute before Laurel eventually looks back, expression pinching. “The vigilantes are leaving, but does that mean you won’t get involved with it anymore?”

Thea pauses, thinking that over. “I don’t...know,” she answers slowly, frowning a little.

Laurel turns more towards her again and leans forward, expression firm. “You can’t kill people, Thea,” she states, like it’s a fact.

Thea pauses again and then huffs a breath. “Who said I would?” she counters, and Laurel frowns. Thea smiles, just a bit, but it’s only half-filled with humor and doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “If I did do anything, it wouldn’t be like what Wraith and Ghost did.”

“Thea-” Laurel starts.

“The Glades are still in ruin,” Thea cuts her off, and Laurel stops, expression pinching, “People are still getting hurt.” Thea shrugs a little, eyes dropping to the phone in her lap as she thinks it over. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she confesses quieter, “I just...aside from the killing, do you think they were wrong?” She looks up and Laurel studies her, sitting back a little. “The cops can only do so much,” Thea continues, rubbing her finger over the side of the flip phone, “If we had vigilantes who didn’t kill, or only killed when they needed to, would that be bad for the city? Or would it help?”

Laurel’s quiet for a moment before taking a breath. “It’s not for us to decide,” she answers quietly, “The law-”

“That law isn’t a human being,” Thea cuts her off gently, brows drawing up a little, “Where was the law when my brother and father were murdered? Or when Sara disappeared? Or when your father was shot? When the Glades were destroyed?”

Laurel looks up sharply, eyes going wide. “The Glades weren’t-...Are you saying someone _did that_ to the city?” she asks, leaning forward again, “And Ollie and your father, my sister, are you saying someone _did that to them?_ ”

Thea keeps quiet, but she can see the wheels turning in Laurel’s head, can see things clicking for her in the look in her eyes, pieces, even if she doesn’t have the full picture. She has enough of it to get Thea’s point.

Laurel sits back again, eyes dropping to the cushions as she thinks, thinks of the Glades, Sara, her mother, her father, Ollie and Robert Queen, _all of it_. She takes a breath, closing her eyes firmly and shaking her head. “It’s too much right now,” she finally says, then looks back up, “But, Thea, if you do anything like that, you’ll be in danger too, the people you _know_ will be in danger.” That’s part of why Laurel’s mother never told her father what she did, why she left everything completely, why she used a street name no one knew. Even with all that, none of it is a foolproof way to keep the people in her life safe. Someday, someone Laurel’s mother knew could still turn up, and if what Wraith told her father about Sara is true, then that could happen with her sister, too. “You can’t take the law into your own hands. If people did, it’d be anarchy, not justice.”

“The bad guys already take the law into their own hands,” Thea returns after a moment, brows lowering as her jaw tightens, thinking of her brother, the island, _Malcolm_ , Ra’s. None of the police ever even knew about Malcolm, or Ra’s, and the government agencies that _did_ know about Ra’s couldn’t _do_ _anything_ about him except _torture her_. They couldn’t stop him, _or_ Malcolm, and if they couldn’t, what can the Starling City police do? Malcolm was here for _years_ plotting to destroy the city, and they didn’t even have a clue.

“The law might see us all as equal, but how does that matter when people are still dying?” Thea asks, focusing again, “My brother, my father, everyone in the Glades? The world isn’t black and white, even if the law is, it’s gray, and if I can _do_ something about it, help people where they would be left to die, to lose people they love because the law couldn’t do _anything_ to stop it, couldn’t stop the _Glades_ getting destroyed...shouldn’t I?”

Laurel and Thea watch each other for a long minute before Laurel finally takes a breath, closing her eyes and shaking her head again, more out of being overwhelmed than anything. She stays seated for another minute, trying to think it over, but it’s...it’s too much right now, on top of everything. _Someone_ destroyed the Glades? Killed Robert and Oliver? It’s _too much_ on top of finding out about Sara, her father being shot, her mother being a vigilante, Thea having a _phone_ connected to two _serial killers_. She can’t- she can’t deal with it right now, or get into a moral debate.

Laurel finally gets up and turns, heading for the door. She pauses with her hand on the handle though, lips pressing together. “Whatever you do decide to do,” she says after a moment, looking back, “ _Please_ be careful, Thea. I know things have been strained between us, but I still care about you.”

Thea’s tension melts out of her at that and she lets out a quiet breath, backs of her eyes stinging a little. “I care about you, too,” she returns quietly, “And I will.” She takes a breath and tries to smile. “I hope your dad will be okay, and things with Sara. I’m glad she’s alive.”

Laurel manages to smile back, small and sad but real, then turns back for the door and leaves, Thea watching the door shut. The room goes quiet again with just herself for company.

 _...Well_ …

She digs her other phone out of her pocket and sends Joe and Roy a group text, huffing a watery laugh at the replies she gets.

She’s not alone, not really.

\-----

Shado sits up on the couch when there’s a light tapping at the apartment balcony doors, sharing a look with her father before she gets up and quietly makes her way over to shut the living room lights off before cautiously heading to the doors, shoulders tense. She parts the blinds with a couple fingers to take a quick look and then relaxes, moving to unlock the doors and pulling one open. She steps aside, letting Oliver step into the apartment. He tugs his bandana down after she closes the door behind him and she walks over to turn the room lights back on.

“What is it?” she asks. Oliver’s eyes shift from her over to her father, the tension easing out of her father’s shoulders as he relaxes back on the couch.

“I wanted to tell you in person,” Oliver starts, and Yao Fei tenses again, eyes intent on him, “The League got your name cleared. You can go home under your own name, and the Chinese government won’t bother you or your family again.”

Yao Fei and Shado’s eyes widen, both staring at him, and then Shado darts forward, Oliver flinching at the sudden movement as she wraps her arms around him and hugs him tight.

“ _Thank you_ ,” she says quiet and raw, muffled against the side of his neck.

Oliver wraps his arms around her in return and hugs her back. He looks past her shoulder at Yao Fei still watching him, and Shado pulls away, Oliver slipping past her over to him. He kneels down on a knee in front of him, looking up, Yao Fei’s eyes scrutinizing, trying to find the lie. “It’s real,” Oliver says softer, then pulls a phone out of his pocket and offers it over, Yao Fei’s eyes darting from him to it and back again, “If anything ever happens, use this. I’ll take care of it.”

“You don’t have to-” Yao Fei starts, voice quiet and rough, and from the sounds of it, not just because he hasn’t spoken in the past few years.

“I want to,” Oliver cuts him off gently, honestly. Yao Fei’s eyes search his. “Please, let me?” He owes Yao Fei everything. If it wasn’t for him, Oliver never would have made it on the island as long as he did, long enough to learn to survive, to meet Slade and Shado and end up here. Even with everything that happened, all the bad, he’ll never stop being _grateful_ for that, and all the...good that has come out of it.

And even after everything with Ra’s, Yao Fei was still his first mentor, his first friend on Lian Yu, and something...not quite a father figure, but close. There’s not much Oliver wouldn’t do for him, least of all keeping him, Shado and her sister safe, to give them the uninterrupted chance to be happy again.

Yao Fei looks between him and the phone again before finally, slowly reaching forward and taking it, turning it over once before looking back up. “ _Thank you_ ,” he says, quiet, rough, and tight, closing his eyes firmly and bowing his head. Oliver leans forward enough to reach up and grip his shoulder, Yao Fei’s eyes snapping open.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Oliver returns, lips curling up a little.

Miraculously, Yao Fei’s even twitch up back.

Oliver hears soft footsteps pad into the room and then come to an abrupt stop with a high pitched squeak and all their heads whip around, eyes darting over.

Felicity stares back, eyes wide and shoulders tense. “You-” she starts, staring at Oliver, mouth opening and closing a couple times like a fish before she finally lets out a loud, angry _huff_ and crosses her arms, brows drawn low, “What is it you and Wilson have against _knocking?_ ”

“I’m dead,” Oliver returns.

“Even ghosts knock on things!” Felicity lets out, throwing her arms out with it before pausing. “Not that I believe in ghosts,” she adds quickly with a tiny shudder before crossing her arms again, “But you’re _definitely_ not a ghost, so _knock!_ Or call!” She pauses again, frowning, searching his face. “Wait, did you make a _joke?_ ”

Oliver’s lips twitch and her eyes go wide.

“Are you _smiling?_ ” she asks incredulously.

Oliver’s lips twitch up a little more before he shifts his gaze back to Yao Fei, tiny smile softening. “We can leave tomorrow, if you want,” he says, keeping his voice low and calm, “On a private jet. It will be quiet.”

Yao Fei stares back, trying to process. He finally nods his head once sharply after a few moments and Oliver nods back, getting back up to his feet.

“I’ll make the arrangements,” Oliver says, looking to Shado and Felicity, “Can you meet us at the private far side of the airport tomorrow night? I’ll text the time.”

Shado nods, smiling again, and Oliver smiles a little back, just a little. She moves in to hug him one more time and Oliver lets her, returning it before pulling away after a minute and pulling his bandana back up. He heads over to the balcony doors, slipping out one to Felicity’s huff and closing it behind him.

Felicity glares at the doors for a couple moments before all her ire, fake and real, disappears like Oliver did, looking over at Yao Fei and Shado. She smiles, soft and sad, but happy, too. “I’m glad you can finally go home,” she says warmly.

Yao Fei’s eyes dart up from the phone in his hand and he nods once, Shado still smiling as she takes a seat at his side.

Felicity’s heart squeezes in her chest as she watches them and she takes a breath, still sad, still happy. She’s happy for Shado and her father, she’s just going to miss-

“Oh!” she lets out, perking up. Shado and Yao Fei look back over. “I wanted to ask,” Felicity continues, “Does Skype work in China? Or Discord?”

Shado blinks before huffing a soft laugh and nodding, smiling over at her again. “I’ll give you my email.”

Felicity lets out a breath, beaming.

\--

Oliver stops on the neighbouring roof when he catches sight of Slade leaning on his shoulder against the side of the roof entrance, arms crossed.

“Following me?” Oliver asks.

“You almost died,” Slade answers, sharp but dry, pushing himself up and walking over, “Again.”

Oliver stays still for a moment before stepping close, leaning closer to kiss Slade through his bandana. One of Slade’s hands comes up and grips his arm, returning it. Oliver pulls back after a minute and turns for the other end of the roof, Slade’s hand sliding away. Oliver looks back at him.

Slade moves to follow so Oliver starts running again, jumping at the edge for the next roof and heading out of the city.

He has one more stop to make.

\-----

Moira pushes her laptop closed, setting it aside on her nightstand with a sigh and pulling her reading glasses off, dropping them on top of the lid before rubbing at the corners of her eyes. Five years since she took over for Robert and she hasn’t gotten much of a decent night’s sleep since, at least none that start before near midnight. It’s even harder to sleep with Walter gone, she’s not used to it anymore. She lowers her hands and goes to reach for her lamp, freezing when she catches movement out of the corner of her eye and whipping around-

A black figure steps out of the darkest part of her room over by the windows and then- Her son pushes his hood back and tugs his bandana down.

“ _Oliver_ ,” she lets out, throwing her covers off and moving to get up. He raises a hand and she pauses, staying seated against the pillows set against the headboard. He comes closer out of the shadows and into the warm lamplight, rounding the end of the bed with a brief glance towards the closed bedroom doors before taking a slow seat on the edge.

He just looks at her for a long moment with his new, strange, green eyes, and then Moira realizes what he’s doing.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you,” she says soft and quiet. Oliver’s eyes soften just a little and her heart sinks, because that’s all the answer she needs. She reaches forward and- slowly, gently takes his closest hand in her own, both of them looking down at it. Moira doesn’t say anything, and her son doesn’t either, then after a minute, Oliver turns his hand over in hers and grips hers gently, drawing her eyes up to his.

“I’ll come back,” he says, so quiet and...calm, much calmer than she feels. The fear of losing him again is a vice grip around her heart, squeezing the breath out of her lungs in a slow death, much like she imagines drowning in a deep ocean must feel like. Dark and consuming, a build of pressure so great it cracks her ribs and renders her insides to jelly.

But Oliver doesn’t look like that, he looks calm, steady...ready. He’s ready to leave.

Moira reaches up and cups his cheek gently, feels the stubble rough against her palm and it makes her wonder when her son grew up, when he stopped being so much of the boy she remembers. She still sees traces of him, but so much of her son is grown now, beyond her teaching, protecting, even though she’ll keep trying until the day she dies.

Oliver’s eyelids slowly lower until they finally close completely, leaning his cheek a little into her hand. Moira smiles, sad and soft while her heart clenches in her chest, can’t help it. She takes a breath through it. “My sweet boy,” she says quietly, almost a whisper, “Will you be alright?”

Oliver’s eyes open and he looks at her. “I think so,” he answers after a moment, keeping his own voice lowered.

Moira takes another breath and makes herself ask, brows lowering a little, “Is Mr. Wilson going with you?” Her son’s eyes soften a bit in a way she’s not used to seeing, hasn’t since- Laurel, but that’s not quite right; this is different.

“You don’t have to worry,” Oliver returns.

Moira’s expression softens and she rubs her thumb gently over his cheek. “Sweetheart, I’m your mother, I’m _always_ going to worry.”

Oliver’s lips curl up a tiny bit before his small smile fades. He reaches up and settles his hand over hers on his cheek, gripping gentle but firm. “You don’t have to worry about Slade,” he says.

“He’s just-” Moira stops herself, taking a steadying breath and finishing a little wryly, “He’s not who I pictured you ending up with.” Her son’s lips twitch again and it both eases some of her worry and makes it worse.

Oliver’s eyes drop to the bed for a few moments before he looks back up. “He’s done a lot for me,” _because of me_ , he doesn’t say, “Things I don’t want to tell you, but I wouldn’t be here without him.” In more ways than one, more things he doesn’t want to tell her. Terrible things, sad things, things he doesn’t want touching his mother here in the safety and comfort of her home. She’s been through enough because of him. He gives her hand a squeeze, holding her worried gaze. “I trust him.”

His mother studies him for a long minute, processing, searching, then knowing. “You love him,” she says.

Oliver swallows a little but doesn’t look away. “Yes,” he answers quieter. She grips his cheek a little tighter.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, so soft and-

Oliver becomes aware all over again that this is his _mother_ , the woman who loved him, still does despite all of the things that he’s done, to her and others, the woman who raised him. The backs of his eyes start to sting and he leans a little closer, lowering his head and closing his eyes. He’s going to miss her, this...warmth. It all feels different from person to person, from Slade, to Shado, to Thea, Sara, everyone, but...the warmth his mother makes him feel seeps down into his bones like it never left, like he was never without it for five years in one of the worst places on earth, then in the League, and that makes his throat close tight.

 _It was never gone_ , he realizes, gripping her hand a little tighter while she keeps smoothing her thumb over his cheek in a gentle rhythm. He distanced himself from them, but that never made how he felt really disappear. Slade was right. That distance, it was all a facade.

He bends forward when his mother gives the gentlest of pulls and lets her draw him in, forehead coming to rest on her thin shoulder. She smoothes her other hand back over his hair, over and over again, and he feels younger than he has in a long time, a rare... _good_ feeling, bittersweet and nostalgic, a memory and the present all at once.

They sit like that for a little while, his mother holding him, stroking his hair while he tries to breathe past the tight ache in his chest, the bittersweet feeling, holding onto her hand. He can still smell lingering traces of her familiar perfume, not washed away completely from constant use over the years, like it’s become a part of her. It’s calming, helps soothe the ache and make it easier to breathe, even if it’s part of the bittersweetness of it all, too.

“I love you, sweetheart,” his mother says after another minute, voice a little hoarse. The hand on his hair stops and her arm wraps tight around his back. “Please be safe, and come back home again.”

“I will,” Oliver gets out, his own voice a little rough. He swallows and makes himself sit up after one more moment, making sure to look her in the eyes. “I promise.”

His mother watches him for a minute before nodding, expression firm even with her wet eyes shining in the lamplight. Oliver nods back and then goes when she pulls him into another hug, resting his cheek on her shoulder.

They stay that way for another while, and then he makes himself get up and leave after a half hour of soaking in his mother’s company, memorizing the way she smells, the way her thin shoulder feels against his cheek, the way the warm lamplight seems to make her almost glow. He slips out her bedroom windows with one last look, her eyes following him the whole way until he closes the window and slips out of her cast light back into the dark. He waits for the guards below to pass before dropping from the roof and sprinting across the grass, leaping over the perimeter wall and landing silent on the other side and running straight. He finds Slade still waiting next to a tree barely a few seconds later and slows to a stop, slowly crossing the distance. They look at each other and then Slade turns for the city, keeping his eye on him.

Oliver steps closer to follow and Slade starts walking, the crickets the only thing breaking the silence. Slade doesn’t ask him how it went, if Oliver’s okay, just stays a steady presence at his side, always...there, always has been, even when he wasn’t.

Slade shifts after a minute and Oliver looks down, nearly stilling at the hand offered over to him. He takes it after a moment, gripping it.

“Didn’t think you’d ever do this,” Oliver says quietly, trying to move past the ache of ‘goodbye’ in his chest.

“Tell anyone and I’ll kill’em,” Slade mutters without any real heat.

It makes Oliver’s lips twitch which was probably the point, giving Slade’s hand a squeeze as Slade leads them through the dark.


	43. The beginning

“Seventy-two hours,” Laurel relays quietly, sitting across the hospital bed from her mother, “That’s what my contact said.”

“How did you end up with a contact connected to the assassins?” her mother questions, brows drawn low and furrowed in a confused, disapproving line.

“It’s...it doesn’t matter,” Laurel answers, shaking her head a little, “Point is, they said Sara would be within the city within seventy-two hours. So if they’re telling the truth, all we have to do is...wait.”

“And if they aren’t?” her father mumbles, low and sleep rough, drawing both their attentions like the snap of a rubberband.

“ _Dad_ ,” Laurel lets out.

“ _Quentin_ ,” her mother says nearly at the same time, both of them sitting forward towards him.

He blinks his eyes open a little sluggishly, but seems more alert faster than he did yesterday. He tries to shift a little with a wince and a grunt and then settles back against the pillow with a long sigh. “The sooner I get out of here, the better,” he mutters. He looks between the two of them, smiling a little before it fades and he focuses on Laurel. “You spoke with the vigilantes?”

Laurel’s shoulders drop but she nods once and her father lets out another sigh, eyes closing for a moment before he looks back over and watches her closely.

“He told me he was leaving,” he says low.

Laurel and her mother share a look, both frowning before shifting their gazes back to her father. “I spoke with one of them on a phone,” Laurel says, “I’m not sure if they’re still in the city.”

“Things have been quiet,” her mother says, drawing Laurel and her father’s eyes over. Dinah frowns, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms in thought. “We get the reports in Central City too,” she explains, “But there hasn’t been anything for a while now. It doesn’t mean much, but if it keeps up, they really might be gone. If Sara-” She stops, has to swallow and take a breath to steel herself. “If Sara...comes back, we can ask her, but mostly I just- I _just want to see my baby again_.”

Lance swallows too, brows lowering as he nods. He offers his closest hand over and Dinah immediately takes it, gripping it tight.

Laurel sits back in her own chair, thinking, processing, then watching them both, eyes shifting between her parents as they stare at one another, holding hands. One of her brows twitches up but she keeps quiet. Best to let that go wherever...it might go.

\-----

Oliver slowly comes to, becomes aware of the warmth all along his front first, that it seems to be attached to the same one his arm is wrapped around and he slowly drags his eyes open, blinking drowsily. There’s pitch black in front of his face, the back of a head silhouetted by the dim lighting in the room, the blinds blocking most of the-

He shifts his eyes over to the window, checks the light levels between black hair and a broad, tan shoulder.

-afternoon light.

He shifts his eyes back, closing them and taking a long, slow breath in of Slade’s scent, the lingering traces of sleep and sex mingled with it and curls a little closer around Slade’s back, pressing his forehead gently to the back of Slade’s head, trying not to wake him even though he might be awake already. Slade’s arm closest to his shifts and wraps around the one Oliver has wrapped around him, gripping the back of his hand. Slade’s ribcage rises and falls with a quiet yawn and then Oliver finds himself yawning too, feels Slade shift a little against him with a low snort. But he doesn’t say anything, and Oliver holds still for a minute, two, thinking of where he needs to be, what he has to do, but Smoak has it covered and Sara is coming, so there’s...nothing, no reason to move.

He finally lets himself curl around Slade just a little bit more, drawing his hand up to the center of Slade’s chest. Slade’s hand moves with his own, keeping hold of the back of it, then lifts his and Oliver feels rough, chapped lips press to his knuckles, makes his chest warm. He closes his eyes again, almost nuzzling into the back of Slade’s short, buzzed hair. It tickles against his face a little, but it’s almost soft, too. Oliver didn’t think any part of Slade could be soft.

Slade lowers their hands back to his own chest and gives Oliver’s a squeeze, and Oliver nuzzles into his hair again, lips curling up faintly at the feel of it.

Seems he was wrong.

\-----

“Hey.”

Thea looks up from her phone where she’s sat in a Big Belly Burger booth. “Hey,” she returns, watching Roy take a seat opposite and then slouch back, red hood still up and shading his face. Thea’s lips twitch. “It’s already been a day and you’re _still_ recovering? Can’t handle your liquor, Harper?” she prods.

Roy gives her a dirty look across the table. “Not all of us aced in drinking, _Queen_ ,” he returns with a frown, something near a pout, and Thea snorts a little laugh. “Or that thing Joe did with his _tongue_ ,” Roy adds in a mutter, frowning more in confusion this time, “ _Three times_. What _was_ that?”

“Skill,” Joe answers, both of their attentions snapping over as he takes a seat next to Thea, slipping his canister off his shoulder. It’s similar to the one her brother’s been using to hide his new sword, a way to keep it on him without flashing it in broad daylight.

Thea’s cheeks warm a little but her eyes drop back to her phone when it vibrates:

‘ _Leaving tonight. Jet?_ ’

Thea takes a breath past the tightness in her chest and taps out a reply before pocketing her phone.

A waitress comes over and sets a few menus down for them before heading away with a smile and they all take a look at the options. Thea hasn’t been here in a while; she can’t remember much of what they have.

“What did you want to meet for?” Joe asks, glancing over from his menu.

“Do we need a reason?” Thea counters, keeping her own eyes on her menu.

Joe scoffs, closing his. “We’re not dating.”

“Who said this was a date?” Roy pitches in, still slouched back with his own menu, looking up at Joe over the top of it.

Joe frowns a little back, then looks between the them. He lets out a sigh and sits back in the booth, dropping his head back. “I knew I’d regret it.”

“Quit whining,” Thea returns, closing her menu and offering it over. Joe lifts his head and frowns again but takes it, setting it on the end of the table with his. Roy leans over to set his on top before the waitress finishes making her rounds and comes back over.

“What can I get you three?” she asks with a polite smile, brown ponytail swaying a little behind her head and brown eyes kind. She pulls a pad and pen out of her white waist apron.

“ _My sanity_ ,” Joe mutters, so quiet Roy and Thea barely hear.

Roy snorts while Thea’s lips curve up.

“Three shakes and three burgers with everything on’em,” Thea answers. “It’s his first time here,” she adds, jerking her thumb towards Joe.

“Alright. It’ll be a few minutes,” the waitress returns with another smile, gathering up their menus and heading over to the counter.

They all watch her go for a moment before Thea looks over at Joe, leaning forward on an elbow on the table and resting her cheek in her hand. “They’re leaving tonight,” she says quieter, brows drawing together a little, “Are you leaving too?”

Joe looks back, then over at Roy before looking away, over at the rest of the diner and the other patrons all talking or eating, or both. “No,” he eventually answers, keeping his own voice down too, “I’m going to stay a while.”

Thea shares a look with Roy, who smirks a little and leans forward on his elbow too, resting his own cheek in his hand.

Joe looks back and frowns at both of them, eyes shifting between them again. “Not because of either of you,” he says.

Thea and Roy both smirk over at him, Thea raising an unimpressed brow. “ _Mmhmm_ ,” she hums, unconvinced, “So what will you be doing while you’re here, Mr. Wilson?”

Joe makes a face at the last and doesn’t answer, looking away instead. Thea and Roy just share another look, both grinning like the cat that got the canary.

\-----

“You never asked,” Oliver says, breaking the quiet.

He slept for a while, but now he’s been watching the sun steadily sink beyond the curtains for the past twenty minutes, nowhere to go and nothing to do, nothing pressing needing his attention since Smoak is still watching Laurel and he’s texted both his sister and Shado. It’s...strange, to be able to just lay here and do nothing, to doze the day away and not be needed for something somewhere, an old feeling, an almost...restless, bored one while simultaneously being...peaceful, too.

Slade’s leg shifts where it’s been resting between his, the arm around his waist tightening a little, Slade wrapped around him in a mirror of when Oliver was wrapped around Slade this morning. “About?” Slade rumbles, breath warm against the back of his head.

“How Nyssa saved me,” Oliver answers, letting his eyelids droop in the warmth and lulling quiet, the steady rhythm of Slade’s heart beating against his back.

Slade’s quiet for a beat before letting out a low sigh against the back of his head. “Don’t care,” he mumbles, “‘Long as it worked.”

Oliver curls up a little more and Slade tugs him back that much closer, curling around him. Oliver half-turns after a minute and turns his head, Slade leaning forward enough to kiss him, the arm around Oliver sliding up so Slade’s hand can grip his jaw. Slade’s thumb rubs near the corner of his mouth and Oliver lets out a slow sigh through his nose, melting back a little more into the bed, into Slade.

“I love you,” Oliver whispers, breaking the kiss, so quiet even he can barely hear it. He cracks his eyes open and Slade just looks at him, dark eye shifting to take in the rest of Oliver’s face: his tousled hair, the stubble on his cheeks, the scars, the bridge of his nose, his lips, his chin, Slade’s thumb still rubbing near the corner of his mouth. Slade doesn’t say it back, but Oliver can see it in the way Slade looks at him, takes in all the pieces that make up the whole of him, the way Slade touches him, holds onto him, fights to keep him around even when Oliver’s tried more than once to leave, hadn’t fought for _himself_.

So Slade doesn’t say it, but he does slide his hand up, combs his rough fingers back through the side of Oliver’s hair and Oliver closes his eyes, feels strangely...soft, and content, warm all over like he’s been laying in the sun, and kisses Slade back when Slade kisses him, unhurried and almost as gentle as that warmth, no less potent for how deadly soft it is. It’s an illusion almost, a gentle wave covering a raging tide, another piece that makes up the whole of what they are when they’re together.

\-----

Oliver and Slade get up eventually, have to, share the shower and brush their teeth before getting dressed and packing up their few things. Oliver finds his father’s book in his pocket, stares down at it for a long moment before slipping it back in and heading over to Slade waiting by the motel room door, following him out and closing it behind them one last time.

They head to the airport in Slade’s rental car, Oliver’s hood up and head down in the passenger seat. He glances around it out at the city as they make a couple quick stops on the way, taking in as much of it as he can before they finally reach the airport. They drive past the sea of people coming and going in the parking lot and head straight back for the far end of the private hangars where they find Diggle’s car already parked outside. Slade parks theirs next to it, shutting it off and grabbing his duffel out of the back before they both get out and head into the hangar. They find the others all already gathered there, standing around like they’re ready for a mission briefing.

“You didn’t think we’d let you go without saying goodbye, did you?” Thea asks, lips curling up even though her eyes are sad.

Oliver’s fingers curl a little and he takes a breath, then continues walking forward. Thea pulls him into a hug as soon as he’s close enough and buries her face into the side of his neck through his hoodie. Oliver returns the hug, resting his mouth against her shoulder and closing his eyes. Thea squeezes him tighter and Oliver returns that too. They both pull back after a couple minutes and Oliver reaches down, pulling out the new phone Slade got and offering it over. Thea looks down at it as she takes it in both hands, holding onto it like it’s something precious.

“Our new numbers are already in it,” Oliver says quietly.

Thea looks back up at him and nods once, brows drawing lower together. “Did you talk to mom?” she asks, just as quiet.

Oliver nods and Thea nods back, then they’re both quiet. There’s not much more to say, even though part of Oliver wishes there was. He already told Thea he’d come back whenever she wanted him to, would pick up when she called, now it’s just...time to go.

He glances over to see Slade finishing up his talk with Joe, hears something about “ _A.S.I.S._ ” and “ _Gave half to your mother_ ” before tuning it out and looking away. It’s not for him. He sees Shado and Felicity talking quietly while Diggle watches a couple feet away, Yao Fei giving them all their own space while he lingers, his own island off to the side. Shado and Felicity finish up with a hug, Felicity squeezing her tight, and Oliver drags his eyes back to Thea, lips curling up a tiny bit when hers do.

“I’ll call you,” Thea promises.

“I’ll answer,” Oliver returns.

Thea’s smile spreads a little more and Oliver leans forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead before pulling back and looking at her one more time, memorizing her, just in case. She stands tall now with her shoulders squared and her expression...determined, sure, confident, and that eases some of the worry out of him.

He makes himself turn and start walking towards the plane after one more minute, Shado and Yao Fei the first to follow with Slade pulling away from Joe last.

“Be careful, you guys,” Felicity says as the others all gather around her, drawing Oliver’s attention back.

Oliver nods while Shado smiles and Slade snorts. “Traveling with _him?_ ” Slade asks wryly as he jerks a thumb towards Oliver and keeps heading for the plane.

Oliver gives the back of his head a look that Slade ignores, heading up into the plane first. Oliver lets Shado and Yao Fei go ahead of him before bringing up the rear and closing the jet door behind him. He and Shado both look around, take in the jet interior as they head for the plush, cream seats, footsteps silent over the tan carpet while Slade heads up into the cockpit. It’s extravagant, like the League jet was, if in opposite colors, but this time it’s not taking Oliver to a cage, it’s taking him to freedom.

The jet comes to life after a minute, most of the sound muffled through the walls and Oliver takes a seat next to a window, looking out at their gathered cluster of...friends, eyes settling on Thea last. She’s standing between Joe and Roy, still staring up at him determinedly and gripping the phone tight. That’s the way Oliver remembers her as the jet starts rolling across the tarmac and picks up speed, taking them all out of sight.

Felicity watches the jet go, fingers curling at her sides. “Is it...bad that I...think I like Shado, too?” she asks quietly, privately, just between the two of them. Diggle shifts at her side and she looks up and over hesitantly, brows drawn together.

Diggle shakes his head slowly, looking from the jet to her. “No,” he answers thoughtfully, lips curling up a little after a moment, “But I think it’s something we should talk about.”

Felicity lets out a rush of breath, shoulders dropping with it as she smiles back. “Okay,” she returns.

“So what are you going to do? Now that your brother’s gone,” Roy asks, watching the jet fly off with the rest of them.

“You know…” Thea trails off in thought, biting her inner cheek briefly, “The other night gave me an idea.” She looks either side of her at Roy and Joe, smirking a little. “I was thinking about opening a bar.”

Roy groans, heading dropping back. “Please don’t mention alcohol to me again any time soon.”

“Pity, I was going to offer you a job,” Thea teases playfully, “But if you don’t want it…”

Roy lowers his head and frowns over at her. “A job? Me? The thief?”

“Well, I already know you won’t steal the alcohol since you can’t stomach it,” Thea returns.

Roy balks at her before snorting and looks over at Joe, raising a brow. “What about him?” Roy asks with a jerk of his head, looking back to Thea and drawing Joe’s attention down from the jet growing smaller in the sky, “You offering him a job too?”

Joe snorts this time. “My hands are already full trying to train you two.”

Roy and Thea both frown over at him, then smirk at almost the same time and Joe gives them both a look, but they just smirk _wider_.

“Stop turning everything into an innuendo,” Joe grouses, looking away.

“Stop making it so _easy_ ,” Thea counters.

Roy huffs a laugh while Joe crosses his arms, lips twitching where they can’t see.

They all look out at the jet one more time, the wing lights growing smaller in the distance, before they start heading out, Diggle and Felicity leading the way.

\-----

“Almost there,” Dinah says, Laurel hurrying ahead to get her apartment door open while Dinah slowly helps Quentin out of the elevator and down the short hall.

“Forgot how much of a pain getting shot was,” Lance grunts, arm wrapped around Dinah’s shoulders and cheeks a little warm. He looks over at her and then darts his eyes away when she looks back, feeling like a stupid _teenager_ , of all things. He might get Sara back, but...maybe he can get Dinah back, too.

“Quentin,” Dinah says low, drawing his attention over while Laurel gets the door unlocked. Dinah looks back. “There’s something...I need to tell you, when we get inside.”

Lance frowns a little, but his eyes shift forward again when Laurel gets and holds the door open for them, and they both shuffle inside. Laurel closes and locks it behind them.

“The couch is already made up for mom,” Laurel says, heading further in, “I can sleep on the flo-” she cuts off and Dinah and Quentin both still, snapping to attention and eyes darting up before they both freeze, all staring at the black figure back by the windows in the dark living room. Dinah’s fingers curl as her and Laurel both take a deep breath, getting ready while Lance eyes the umbrellas back by the door-

The figure pushes their hood back and they all stop, eyes widening.

“ _Sara?_ ” Dinah lets out in a rush of breath.

“Hi, mom,” Sara returns quietly, brows drawing worriedly together as she looks between the three of them, looking anxious, nervous, scared, “Dad...Laurel.”

They all stare for another minute and then Dinah moves first, shifting Quentin’s arm off her shoulders so she can run forward. Lance jolts and then moves too, followed by Laurel, all of them wrapping their arms around her.

“ _Sara!_ ” Laurel lets out, “ _You’re really_ -” She doesn’t finish, just holds onto her tighter while her father nearly squeezes the breath out of her.

Sara jerks, fight or flight kicking in while her eyes go wide, and then she-....slowly, shakily wraps her arms around all of them, eyes stinging, overwhelmed as her mother sobs her name, her father says it over and over with “ _He wasn’t lying,_ ” and “ _You’re really here,_ ” and Laurel hugs her the tightest of the three of them. Sara closes her eyes, squeezes them shut and tries to just- _breathe_ , tears gathering at the corners of her eyes and heart pounding hard in her chest.

“Yeah, I’m...I’m here,” she gets out, voice hoarse, holding onto them that much tighter as she blinks tears down her cheeks, “I’m _home_.”

Her family holds onto her just as tight and for the first time in years, Sara cries, not out of fear or sorrow, but out of _love_.

\-----

Oliver drags his eyes away from the window when Slade comes back through from the cockpit, watching him head over to his bag and dig something out. He tosses it over at Oliver, who catches it, eyes snapping down when he registers the cold. Slade tosses another at Shado, who catches it too where she’s sitting on the couch next to the chair Yao Fei is reclined in, his eyes closed in either sleep or meditation. Shado and Oliver both look over at Slade, who walks over and hands a plastic wrapped spoon to Shado before heading back and taking a seat next to Oliver, offering one over to him too.

“Ice cream?” Shado asks, lips slowly curling up.

Slade doesn’t answer, just tears his spoon wrapper open and shoves the plastic in a pocket before sticking the spoon in his mouth to get his small ice cream open, some orange, mango flavored one. Oliver looks back down at his own and reads the label: mint chocolate, looks over at Shado’s and sees pink, probably for strawberry. He looks back over at Slade who takes a spoonful and looks back while he chews, raising an expectant brow.

Oliver gets his own spoon and ice cream open while Shado does the same with hers. The two of them both take a bite and close their eyes at how cold and sweet it is, Shado letting out a quiet sigh as she smiles again.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, looking over, “I’m surprised you remembered.”

Slade just grunts quietly and spoons another bite while Oliver does the same, smiling a little around his spoon as his chest warms. He looks out the window, then over at Yao Fei and Shado, Slade, back down at mint green and chocolate.

Looks like they got ice cream after all.

\-----

_One Week Later, in a Private, Medical Facility_

Lyla stands still and at attention at the wall as she watches her boss slowly flip through her report file, keeping quiet. Her boss finally reaches the end, eyes skimming over the last paragraph before slowly closing the whole thing, a tube still taped to the back of her hand, white tape stark against her skin.

“Disappointed, but not surprised,” Waller finally says where she’s reclined in the hospital bed, voice a little bit of a croak and quieter than Lyla’s used to, but no less deadly for it. Her eyes are still sharp like a hawk’s, even surrounded by bruising.

Lyla doesn’t say anything, just waits for instruction.

“So the ‘Suicide Squad’ I put together failed,” Waller says to herself after a minute, lips pursing in thought, “We’ll just have to put something else together.” She looks over. “You did well,” she adds, lips curling up a little, and it’s as predatory as it’s always been, “Start putting together another team.”

“Ma’am,” Lyla returns, bending down to pull another file out of the bag next to her left foot and offering it over, “I already compiled a list of potentials.”

Waller’s smile curves up sharper like a knife. “Very good, Agent Michaels,” she says as she takes it and flips it open, eyes already starting to skim down the page.

\-----

“Mr. Merlyn?”

Tommy looks up from his desk. “Yes?”

“I’m heading out for the evening, if that’s alright?” Lucinda asks, his secretary since his last promotion.

Tommy sits up a little more and smiles. “That’s fine. I’m going to stay a little longer before I head out too.”

Lucinda nods with a smile before backing out of his office, the door closing again. Tommy looks back to his computer, going over the numbers for this week’s report. They seem to be doing well- His computer _pings_ with an email notification and he click over to it, stilling when he reads the sender and subject:

‘ _Malcolm Merlyn_

 _URGENT To my son, Tommy_ ’

Tommy slowly drops his eyes down to find a video file, just a file, the message area left white and blank. He stares at the file for a moment more before dragging the mouse over and clicking on it. It opens and his father’s face appears, his penthouse office in the background:

“ _Tommy_ ,” his dad starts, smiling a little even though it doesn’t reach his eyes, his brows low, “ _If you’re watching this, it’s because I’m dead_.”

Tommy freezes, eyes widening.

His father huffs a breath in the video, almost a laugh, but not quite. “ _Sorry if that’s a little dramatic_ ,” his father continues, expression sobering to match his eyes, “ _There’s a lot I haven’t told you, a lot I still won’t, but I’ve done things, things you and your mother wouldn’t be proud of. But I did them knowing the consequences my actions would have, and this was one of them_.”

Tommy covers his mouth with a hand as he stares.

His father stares back through the video, lips curling up a little again, and this time it does reach his eyes. His father sits up a little straighter, squares his shoulders a little more. “ _I’m proud of you. I know I never said that enough, but I am, and effective as soon as this video ends, you’ll be made CEO of Merlyn Global. I’ve set the stage for you to shine the brightest you can, and I don’t doubt that you will, because you’re my son, but more importantly...you’re Rebecca’s. I know, in my heart, that she’d be just as proud of the man you’ve become as I am. My only regret is that I won’t be there to see it, see how you become even greater than you already are_.”

Tommy’s vision blurs, eyes burning and throat going tight as he grips at his mouth tighter, _confusion_ and- _desperation_ clawing up the back of his throat-

His father’s smile softens with his eyes. “ _Goodbye, son_ ,” he finishes just before the video ends and goes black-

“ _Dad!_ ” Tommy lets out, reaching for him, but his fingers hit the screen and he jerks back, staring wide-eyed. He quickly hits the replay button and watches the video through again, searching, then scrambles for his phone before it’s even fully finished.

“ _911, how may I direct your call?_ ” the dispatcher asks.

“I need to report a missing person,” Tommy says urgently, “Or-...I think-...” he swallows roughly, pulling in a ragged breath as his breathing escalates, wipes at his eyes, “I think...I think my father’s-... _dead_.”

“ _What’s your and your father’s name?_ ” the dispatcher asks, keys tapping rapidly in the background.

“Malcolm, Malcolm Merlyn,” Tommy gets out, breathing fast and rough, “My name’s Tommy Merlyn. I’m- I’m his...son.”

 

\-------------------------

_Lian Yu_

The waves lap at the edges of the ruins of the Amazo, slosh into broken windows and gaping doorways rusted over and covered in grime and growing moss from the elements, old red paint wearing off the steel. The rain pours overhead, soaks into his already drenched clothes and helps the waves disrupt the water’s surface.

Oliver pulls his father’s notebook out of his soaked pockets where he’s perched at the top of the ruins protruding out of the waves, looking at it for a long minute before holding his arm out and dropping it over the edge, watching it splash into the currents below. He takes a slow breath in of sea salt and ocean air, rain and rust, of the trees and green growing behind him on the island and lets it out slow, along with the weight slowly sifting out of him with it. He just stands there for a while, staring down into the water, then out at it, watches the grey clouds in the distance and feels the wind tug at his wet clothes, make them colder, blow his limp bangs across his face.

He turns and hops down one, two, three times before dropping back into the water, looking up at the grey and refracting light as it submerges over his head. He starts swimming back for the island until his feet and hands eventually hit rocky sand, crawls out and lets out the breath he was holding, pulling another in as he gets to his feet and looks up. Slade’s come down from the treeline where he’s been watching, waiting, arms crossed as the rain starts soaking into him too, Oliver’s sword canister on his back. Slade raises an unimpressesd brow.

“That’s why you wanted to come back here before Japan?” he asks.

Oliver turns and looks back out at the wreckage of the Amazo, wiping at his face to try and clear some of the extra water. “I wanted to say goodbye,” Oliver answers quietly, “To my father, and let Ivo know that we made it.”

Slade’s frowning a little when Oliver looks back.

“He’ll never go away,” Oliver explains, tapping at the side of his own head. Slade’s lips flatten as his brows lower; he understands. Oliver looks back out at the Amazo again. “But his corpse is still out there, stuck at the bottom of that ship. I wanted him to know.”

That he made it, that Slade made it, Shado and Yao Fei and Sara, all of them, save for the prisoners Oliver killed early on. They all made it, regardless of Ivo’s or Fyers’ efforts, both in the past and in the present in Oliver’s head. They’re all still alive, reunited with their families again and starting to live their lives.

That, and...with what happened to the Glades, Oliver doesn’t need his father’s book anymore, doesn’t need to do what his father asked of him because it’s done. He wanted his father to know that, too. He could have burned the book, but it felt like it should be here, where his father is buried. With the Soul Taker sword, Oliver knows souls are real. He’s not sure if his father’s or Ivo’s are haunting this place, but whether they are or it’s just in Oliver’s head because they aren’t, it felt...like he needed to come here and do this, like one last thing he needed to do before he could really...move on.

Slade shifts at his side, drawing Oliver’s attention back, taking the canister when Slade offers it over. Slade turns and starts walking up the beach back for the small plane they rented, huffing a breath. “Always so fuckin’ dramatic,” Slade grumbles, low and quiet and barely audible over the waves.

Oliver snorts quietly, following. “You became a vigilante in Starling City,” he counters.

Slade huffs again, not looking back. “Beats dragging us all the way back out here just to tell a couple of ghosts to fuck off.”

They walk in quiet for a minute before Slade offers a hand back and Oliver’s lips curl up a little, jogging to catch up and take it.

But Slade came with him, piloted the plane even though Oliver offered to hire one and come by himself. That says more to him than Slade’s words do.

“Do you know where in Japan we need to go?” Slade asks after a minute, the plane just up ahead.

“No,” Oliver answers, looking over his shoulder back at the canister after a moment of thought, “But I might be able to ask.”

Slade looks back at him and Oliver looks head, meeting his gaze. Slade grunts quietly and looks ahead again. “Haunted,” he mutters.

Oliver’s lips curl up again and he gives Slade’s hand a squeeze, Slade giving his one back. Oliver looks around at Lian Yu as they close the distance to the plane, climbing up and in after Slade.

This is the place where everything changed, for better and worse, where ‘Oliver Queen’ died, where he laid his father to rest, where he met Yao Fei and Shado and Slade, found Sara again, changed at the hands of Ivo, where he first met the League. He started out here being alone for the first real time in his life, stripped of everything.

The plane starts up and Oliver looks over from the second pilot’s seat, watches Slade flick a few switches before reaching for the steering handles. Oliver looks back out the window, watches the island as they start backing up, watches it get further and further away.

And now he’s leaving it again, changed a second time but not stripped of anything, and not alone.

 

_The End?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is...it. O_O Wow. I can't believe we actually got here. Thank you to everyone for sticking this out with me. ;-; And thank you especially to Tatch for helping so much and listening to me whine and complain and flail and gush and fjdksjfkdlsfjls. <333 And cheering me on. And to Valkyrie for helping me too at the beginning when I was super nervous to even start posting because I'd never made anything like this for a fandom I was barely in fjkdsl. 
> 
> And thank you to everyone who commented and kudos, but the comments especially. They helped me keep going when sometimes I didn't have the motivation to, and made me feel not so alone in this small corner of the fanbase. XDD I know Oliver/Slade isn't a huge ship but it makes me happy to know I'm not alone here.
> 
>  **Side note, Please Read:** This is only the end of the _main story_ , but not necessarily the story itself. I do want to write some oneshots that show what everyone got up to post-story, and it may or may not turn out like my series Ghosts where the oneshots become their _own_ story arc. I don't want to say for sure or make promises because being able to just...write freely helps me keep writing, but there at least a couple oneshots I have in mind, and more might come after that. So if you want to stay updated, I think you'll have to subscribe to the Sagittarius 'series'? Since I made it into a series to house both this story and the au phonecall oneshot, because just being subscribed to this story itself won't notify you of those I'm pretty sure.
> 
> Sorry for rambling! And thank you so much everyone, again. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to give me any feedback. I'm dipping my toes in new territory.


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